Whatever the prefects thought about me personally, they had to agree that my abilities and knowledge made me a useful asset to their office, and they were unlikely to find anyone better on short notice. The only thing left was the supervising teacher's seal of approval, which was a done deal with the officers’ unanimous recommendation. Vanille said she would get it done by next week, and I parted ways with the Cabinet under a still cautious but slightly more optimistic mood.

  I could put in the effort to make myself more likable when our actual work together began.

  Somehow, I made it through another day without killing anybody.

  By the time I left the training halls, the sun had long set. Darkness invaded the campus through the elusive gaps between the sparse lamp posts. I headed to the dorms by myself along the roundabout road wriggling between the Arcane department and the main building, where shadows seemed to gather heaviest under the lining old oaks. Once I could be sure no one else was around, I stopped and addressed the vague presence skulking outside the lights’ range.

  “I know you're there. If you have something to say, say it now.”

  Otherwise, I'll have to assume you're up to no good.

  Without a sound, the figure of Rafel Siroquan emerged from the night.

  “You got me,” the youth remarked with a bashful smile and scratched his head. “I was looking for a good timing to reveal myself without startling you, but guess that was a wasted concern.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “I am. Don’t worry. An impressive show, by the way. Congratulations on your win.”

  “You were watching? How?”

  I was confident there was nobody hiding in the room and the wards should’ve prevented information transfer inside and outside. It was a pretty massive security breach if someone could spy on the training students without any sign of it happening.

  “I'll tell you, as a token of good will,” the young man said and held out his hand. I sensed very faint, ambiguous fluctuations of mana and then, out of nowhere, a small, leathery creature snapped down to sit on his outstretched wrist.

  “A bat…?”

  “This is Zano,” he said. “It looks like a common bat, but it's actually a hellion from the Wood.”

  “I see. So this is your true specialty?”

  Siroquan nodded. “Calidea has mages, while Tarachia has shamans. Before coming here, I was trained not as an air user, but a beastmaster.”

  Ah, now I got it. The skylight in the training room. Skilled beastmasters could not only control hellions, but even share their senses. So he used the monster to spy on us from above. I would’ve noticed a person climbing on the rooftop, but not a bat flying in the sky. If he had such skills, he could definitely keep an eye on the Wood too, on a radius wider than any ordinary wizard could cover.

  “Why would you reveal such a card to me?” I asked.

  Rafel let the bat go and faced me.

  “I see you haven't reported us to the authorities yet. Does that mean you're at least somewhat sympathetic to our mission?”

  “I'll be clear with you now. I don't like Tarachians. A lot of people I knew and cared about died in the war with you. True, part of the blame lies with the Kingdom. Don’t even get started on that. I'm willing to acknowledge that not every one of you may be a murderous barbarian, just like not every one of us only wants love and peace. But that doesn't mean I'll ever be a friend to you, or yours. Take that into account when you choose your next words.”

  “I understand,” Siroquan said. “Personally, I don’t have a very clear national identity, or strong feelings either way. I don’t want to fight anybody, but sometimes it’s the only real choice, to prevent things from getting worse than they are. That said, I never could've imagined I'd one day be chatting face to face with the Demon of the Red Moon herself. That the one behind such a cataclysm is only a girl of my own age—it still feels pretty unbelievable to me.”

  “Then don’t believe it. What’s it to me?”

  “Ahaha. I wouldn’t want to bug you too much. But, as things stand, you're our only contact on Calidea’s side, who knows about our mission, but isn't outright hostile to us. Both of us want to stop the Locust unit from reigniting hostilities. In that case, would it be possible for us to work together?”

  Was he for real?

  I already willingly turned a blind eye to their antics. If he were with the terrorists, he had nothing to gain from annoying me even more, but should've known to keep distance. So did that mean this man and his squad were honestly trying to catch their compatriots? Even if it meant joining hands with their worst enemy and sharing their military secrets?

  Or were they just criminally stupid and overextending, thinking they could get rid of me on top of striking the Kingdom? Who could say? It didn't seem I had other choice but to play along, if I wanted to know the truth.

  “As much as I'd like to say no, duty binds me to hear you out. What do you expect me to do, precisely?”

  “Well, we’re a bit locked down on all fronts at the moment. This is foreign territory to us and our movements are strictly limited. We'd like to share what we know about the opponent and hear your opinion as a native on how to best proceed. Even that much would be helpful. We can see how our cooperation and the situation develop after that.”

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  “It's not really a topic we can discuss at school, though.”

  “I agree. Which is why I want to propose a meeting elsewhere.”

  Siroquan took out a small note from his pocket and passed it to me.

  “Next Saturday night, in Grimons. You will have an opportunity to meet with our task force leader. We're taking a big risk here, as you may tell. It wouldn’t be mistaken to say we put our lives in your hands, Destroyer. But if there’s any chance that can keep things from going from bad to worse, we’re willing to try. I ask only that you won't make us regret it.”

  I scanned the note briefly for traces of magic and then stuffed it in my jacket pocket. They didn't know about the rings and that I wasn't a quarter, not a permille as deadly as I used to be. Or maybe they only pretended not to know and wanted to lure me into a trap. But it was a trap I could only step into. Or else it’d be on me if they caused a disaster and I did nothing.

  “I'll be there,” I told Siroquan. “But your companions had better be as diplomatic as you are. If I don't like what they have to say, or the way they say it, I won't leave them the time to regret it.”

  “It…should be fine,” he mumbled, his gaze drifting. “I think…Probably.”

  What was that supposed to mean?

  As apt as he was at sneaking around, this young man didn’t exhibit much warrior spirit. It was easy to see how he could get along with Emily, both being naively earnest and good-intentioned, or at least expertly pretending. I turned to go before I could develop any actual sympathy for him. But after half a step, a thought occurred to me, and I paused to glance back.

  “Siroquan.”

  “Oh, just call me Rafel,” he said. “Siroquan is a made-up name. It means the southeastern desert wind in old Tarachian.”

  “Rafel,” I said. “Don’t let me catch you outside after ten.”

  “Huh? Why’s that?”

  “I’m a prefect now.”

  I left without looking back again and made it back to the dorms without being seen by anybody else. Or well, almost. In the entrance hall, I met Manager Ruby, who hailed me from her half-open box office with the tonal weight of a drill sergeant.

  “Oi, Ruthford!”

  “Yes, ma’am? How may I help you?”

  “Got some more mail for you. Come and get it.”

  The dwarven lady lumbered over and thrust a small, thin package wrapped in brown paper and a crude hemp string into my hands. Under the string was a small card, but the whole package was magically sealed as one piece.

  “Who is it from?” I asked.

  “Dunno. It came with the internal mail from the main house.”

  That limited the number of possible senders. No, only one person would use the same cheap wrapping materials as army deliveries. And my optimistic mood was ruined.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled and went to my room.

  I postponed opening the package as long as I could, but after supper, a shower, finishing my schoolwork, reading what was left to read, and changing into my pajamas, I could ignore it no longer.

  Exhaling a long, annoyed sigh, I picked up the parcel from the table and scrutinized anew the paper and the seal on it.

  This one wasn’t much of a puzzle, only meant to keep outsiders from opening it, but not me. Standard military formula featuring a kinetic 3-by-3 number module. The mechanism was commonly used for deliveries to and from mid-rank crew and didn't require esoteric knowledge to open. All you had to do was draw the correct pattern along the nine numbered nodes. The pattern normally used by my old unit was the “fish”. Or 1-5-9-8-7-5-3.

  I ran my index finger along the nodes and subsequently, the string knot unwound, releasing the package, and inked lines emerged on the previously clean card.

  Today is October 18. Your true birthday. Congratulations.

  On the side is your present. As before, return it to the library when you're done with it.

  There was no signature. One would've been redundant, and that man disliked stating the obvious. I tore off the string and the paper wrapping to uncover a book.

  Comprehending Spatial Magic Vol.II.

  Damn it.

  What do you mean, my true birthday? How could Couren know that? Not even I remembered it, if it was ever even celebrated at my original home. My name as well was lost somewhere in the brain-scrambling maelstrom of magical experiments in Biscau. They never asked for names in that place.

  For as long as I could remember, I’d been only 9XA.

  A person’s approximate age could be appraised magically, but only with about a hundred-day margin of error, not down to the exact day nor the hour. My parents couldn't have told him either, since they were long gone before I even joined Project Far Shore. The idea that Couren had somehow personally known them beforehand was absurd. I was confident my parents weren’t wizards, or soldiers, or famous. They wouldn't have lived in such a crappy, remote little town if it were otherwise.

  Unless some truly bizarre magic was involved, only the municipal records of my hometown could've given Couren the answer. Did he find out where I was taken from, travel there in person, and read through all the records of my birth year, and one by one eliminate the implausible options, until he’d found the truth...?

  Then, not just my birthday, that man knew my real name and the names of my parents, and maybe more? But why go to the trouble? What did he hope to achieve by digging up someone else's past?

  “...When did you get so sentimental? Are you actually growing old?”

  I never said I wanted to know such things.

  I couldn't even feign interest in the person I used to be. It was much too late for that. Too much had happened. My family, all the people of my hometown, what were they but strangers to me now? If my parents were still alive today and I met them, I was sure they wouldn’t recognize me at all. Hi, it’s me, your genocidal daughter. I brought death and terror to thousands and went to a good college with someone else’s money. Aren’t you proud of me?

  What a load of nonsense.

  The book I'd gladly accept, though. I was too tired to get into it tonight, but I would look forward to reading it later. On that, if nothing else, you’ve performed acceptably, Master. My vengeful fury towards you has been reduced by 0.00002% today.

  I left the book on the desk, turned off the lamp, and went to bed.

  “October 18…”

  So I was nineteen now?

  It wasn't such a bad day to have a birthday.