Vaaro reached the cave just in time—approaching the darkness-gaping opening, he stopped at the threshold and froze, listening to the surrounding space. Blood inside the cave didn't pulse, didn't call, didn't respond to his magical sense.

  So there was no one inside—no people, no beasts, not even small creatures. He didn't enter the cave itself, nor did he intend to. Such places, shrouded in legends and mortal fear, weren't meant for idle visits, especially when it came to a sanctuary the locals treated with superstitious reverence.

  Instead, Vaaro surveyed the rocky platform before the entrance and chose the most convenient boulder—flat, slightly tilted, as though specially created for long sitting. Settling onto the rough stone that retained the day's warmth, he made himself comfortable, stretching out his long legs, and allowed himself to relax for a moment.

  From here, from the cliff's height, a majestic view opened onto the boundless ocean, whose waters shimmered in the midday sun's rays, and onto the peaceful village spread below by the very shore.

  From such height, all the daily bustle of mortals seemed to him no more than an anthill's fussing—tiny figures scurried back and forth along narrow streets, occupied with their insignificant, fleeting affairs.

  At some point the mage felt a sudden surge of energy somewhere in the cave's depths—as though a taut string quivered in the air, echoing in his Sphere of Perception. Vaaro immediately understood what this sensation meant: a new soul had gained material embodiment in Seratis, passed through the veil between worlds and received its new body in this reality.

  However, he didn't change his position. Only shifted slightly on the boulder, stretched his long legs even further and prepared to wait, knowing that hurrying now was pointless. How much time the soul's adjustment to an unfamiliar body would take, he didn't know—it could be mere minutes or a whole hour, depending on how quickly the newcomer came to their senses and grasped what had happened.

  Vaaro listened keenly to everything occurring in the cave's depths, catching with blood magic every movement, every impulse of life. He heard—no, rather felt—every uncertain step, every cautious movement, every awkward leap of the world's young inhabitant, who was only just learning to control their body, like an infant taking first steps.

  Then he clearly heard cries of joy—ringing, full of rapture and amazement at the revealed possibilities—and happy clapping, echoing through the sanctuary's stone vaults. Barely noticeably smiling to himself at such direct, childishly sincere display of feelings, Vaaro involuntarily reflected that he himself would have experienced exactly the same unbridled joy, were he in this newborn inhabitant of Seratis's place.

  He understood this sensation perfectly—to gain new life, a new body, a new chance after long, consciousness-exhausting stay in the Cycle of Souls, in that incorporeal, sensation-deprived void awaiting everyone whose path the Ether deemed finally complete.

  Finally, after some time, from the approaching footsteps—growing ever more confident and clear—he understood that the guest had decided to head for the cave's exit. Vaaro didn't consider it necessary to rise from his boulder to meet them standing. However, the footsteps, which at first sounded measured and cautious, began accelerating with each moment, becoming ever faster.

  At first it was merely quickened walking, then a light jog, and finally they transformed into swift, almost desperate running, resounding hollowly beneath the cave's stone vaults. These sounds made the mage grow alert and wonder what was happening inside the sanctuary, what could have so frightened this world's newborn inhabitant.

  Could the new soul be fleeing from something? Had her transition to Seratis brought some horrors, ghosts or dark visions from the Cycle, pursuing her even here, in her new body?

  Instantly leaping from the boulder and assuming battle stance—legs slightly wider than shoulders, torso leaning slightly forward, hands already ready for complex spell gestures—Vaaro began methodically, almost automatically preparing his most powerful and destructive abilities.

  The blood in his veins already responded to will's call, ready to transform into lethal weaponry at first demand. In this moment the troll made a firm, unwavering decision: he'd sooner die here and now, at the very threshold of the ancient cave, than allow the abyss's denizens—however terrifying and mighty they proved—to break through this passage and reach his native village, those few places and beings dear to him.

  Yet one circumstance seriously troubled and alarmed the experienced mage: besides the swiftly approaching living organism, whose vital energy pulsed within the bounds of his expanded Sphere of Perception, he felt decidedly nothing else. No other presences, no magical surges, no distortions in energy flows.

  This strange discrepancy allowed only two possible explanations, and both inspired alarm. Either truly no one else was in the cave's depths, and the soul fled from her own fears or hallucinations, or—and this variant was significantly worse—something incredibly, transcendently powerful lurked there, capable of completely masking its presence even from a being as sensitive to magical fluctuations as Vaaro.

  Other creatures, ordinary spawn of darkness or the abyss, simply could never hide their presence from him so skilfully and absolutely. His years of experience and innate sensitivity to blood flows wouldn't allow them to remain unnoticed.

  The figure of the young troll woman appearing in the bright opening didn't attract his attention at all—at least not enough to distract from the real threat.

  Vaaro concentrated all his heightened senses, all the might of his perception and years of experience on a single task: to detect that invisible, hidden presence that perhaps lurked somewhere in the cave's depths and inexorably followed this girl, patiently pursuing its next victim. Precisely this invisible threat, not the fugitive herself, made his blood flow faster and magic condense around his long fingers.

  Meanwhile Nemira, overlooked by his attention, the moment her gaze caught in the dim light the silhouette of the massive troll blocking the cave's exit, conversely—sharply accelerated. She transitioned into desperate sprint at the very limit of her physical capabilities, instinctively gripping with both hands the stone spear's shaft more firmly. The primitive weapon's point was aimed precisely at the mage's head—there, where beneath the skull's bony plates hid the brain controlling this obstacle on the path to freedom and salvation.

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  However crafty, swift and unexpected Livien's attack, however furiously she accelerated her muscular body in a final desperate lunge, the mage dodged her primitive spear with almost insulting ease and casual grace.

  His movement was smooth, as though honed by decades of practice—he simply tilted his head slightly aside, allowing the stone point to whistle past his ear, then, continuing the same fluid gesture, struck the girl with open palm forcefully right in the jaw, precisely between her massive fangs. The blow was of such power and precision that from it the young troll woman died instantly, not even managing to realise she'd been killed, feeling no pain, only sudden emptiness covering consciousness.

  Her lifeless and headless body flew forward several more steps by inertia before heavily crashing onto the stony ground at the very cave entrance.

  "What a nimble specimen!" Either with sincere admiration or with barely perceptible indignation pronounced Vaaro, bending over the body and slowly, almost ritually licking with his tongue the slain's thick blood from his broad palm. Magical energy instantly responded to this blood's taste, making his yellow eyes flash for a moment with dim crimson light.

  "But gods, what incredibly beautiful blood she has! How rare, saturated with power..." He thoughtfully shook his head, gazing at the prostrate body. "Pity... After all, such a rare specimen the priest will doubtless take for his collection."

  Vaaro straightened to his full impressive height with a deep sigh and stood motionless for several moments over the troll woman's dead body, contemplating what had occurred. His yellow eyes methodically surveyed the rocky platform, catching every detail, every drop of blood absorbed into ancient stone. No invisible enemies manifested.

  "So simply a soul with issues after all?" He voiced the thoughts floating in his head.

  But the blood... This girl's blood was truly special. Even now, when the heart had stopped and vital juices ceased circulating through veins, the blood mage felt ancient power emanating from it. Rare lineage, without doubt. Perhaps a descendant of one of the great dynasties, whose roots went to Seratis's very foundations.

  The mage cautiously crouched beside the body and extended his hand to the dead troll woman's chest. His long fingers barely touched the bluish skin—enough for blood magic to give him more detailed information about whom he'd dealt with.

  Through touch to the cooling body he felt echoes of former power that had slumbered in these veins. Ancient blood, very ancient. So old and mighty that even he, hereditary blood mage, was impressed.

  "Thirteenth line..." He whispered with undisguised surprise.

  There were no more than a dozen such in all seven continents of Seratis. And one of them had just tried to pierce his skull with a stone spear, like a savage from a primitive tribe.

  Vaaro slowly rose, brushed off his hands and cast a final glance at the headless body. Pity he'd had to kill such a rare specimen without exchanging at least a couple of words beforehand. But he'd simply had no choice. The attack had been too sudden and determined to attempt stopping ingrained reflexes and neutralising the girl by less radical means. Perhaps he could have controlled his body, but not in battle stance.

  Besides, he still didn't understand from what exactly this newborn soul had been fleeing. Definitely no one else was in the cave—his Sphere of Perception didn't deceive. So the panic's cause lay in something else.

  Perhaps in the rebirth process itself? Sometimes souls brought with them scraps of memories from the Cycle, nightmarish visions of that incorporeal void where they'd awaited their new embodiment. These ghostly images could pursue fragile consciousness, making it flee from non-existent threats.

  Or perhaps the girl had simply feared the cave's darkness? New souls often behaved unpredictably in the first hours after embodiment, until they grew accustomed to physical body and its limitations. Though judging by her determined actions, she'd felt not fear but rather fury.

  "That's why I didn't want to come here..." Vaaro spoke aloud, as though trying to convince himself of the correctness of his former apprehensions. "Forget it, you won't meet her again anyway..."

  He put a full stop to his fruitless speculations, understanding that guessing about the dead's motives was pointless.

  Picking up the spear that had fallen from the troll woman's hands, he slowly turned it in his hands, examining its simplicity. Crude, slightly hewn stone, without hint of processing, without the slightest trace of magical runes or patterns. Simply a sharp piece of rock, torn from cliff and sharpened against other stones.

  Primitive weaponry which nevertheless had tried to pierce his skull. Grimacing at this thought, the mage contemptuously hurled the spear back onto the stone floor—beside its owner's body.

  He didn't worry that the corpse would begin decomposing, filling everything around with suffocating stench: the Ether wouldn't allow such to happen. In some three hours, the body would simply dissolve in air, like morning mist beneath sun's rays, returning accumulated power back to the eternal stream of world energy. Nothing would remain of the troll woman—no bones, no ash, not even a blood stain on stones.

  More precisely, the body wouldn't remain precisely here, on these cold stones at the cave entrance, for the troll woman's soul would be reborn at the nearest Reincarnation Stele—an artefact of the Ancient Primordials, granting new life to all marked by the Ether's Seal.

  True, a price would have to be paid for this. If this didn't occur for some reason—if the soul proved too weak or exhausted all chances granted to it—then her path in Seratis would end definitively, dissolving in the incorporeal void of the Cycle of Souls.

  Glancing at the luminary, Vaaro understood he should hurry.

  He needed to reach his hut before night's darkness descended over the mountains. Meeting this cliff's nocturnal inhabitants—predatory creatures that crawled from crevices at sunset—didn't appeal to him at all. Even with his power and experience.

  As for the priest remaining in the temple, he'd learn of what had occurred before the blood mage managed to descend. After all, the Stele stood right in the middle of his domain.

  Descent proved harder for the troll. Though an outside observer wouldn't have said so. Vaaro still grumbled at the priest for begrudging him at least one of his teleportation scrolls. He himself wasn't shy about using them every time he went to meet new souls.

  The sun already inclined towards the horizon, painting the sky in deep shades of orange and crimson. Shadows grew longer, and the air—cooler. Somewhere in the crevices nocturnal predators already began stirring, sensing darkness's approach.

  Having descended approximately two thirds of the way, Vaaro stopped on a small platform and turned round.

  In his memory still pulsed the taste of that remarkable blood—rich, ancient, full of slumbering power. Thirteenth line... Such specimens he'd never encountered. Usually bearers of ancient lineages were more cautious, cleverer, craftier. They didn't rush at strangers with primitive weaponry at the ready.

  But this girl... In her attack there'd been not a drop of fear, only pure, primordial fury. Like a beast cornered and ready to fight to the last drop of blood. What could have driven a newborn soul to such a state?

  The mage shook his head and continued his descent. Reflections on the motives of beings he'd killed—a useless occupation. Far more important was reaching home before dusk finally thickened.

  At the foot the narrow path became wider and more convenient as it approached the valley separating two mountains. Here, in the slope's lower part, grew low shrubs and rare trees clinging with roots to stony soil. Air filled with the smell of sea salt and seaweed—wind carried them from the coast.

  On the neighbouring mountain's slope, first lights were already kindling in village house windows. Fishermen returned from final catch, traders closed their shops, children ran home for supper. Ordinary, measured mortal life that nothing could disturb.

  Vaaro turned from the main path onto a barely visible side track leading into the jungle's depths. He raced home far faster, this time the young courier didn't restrain him.

  And yet, today's incident didn't leave his head.

  "Wonder if she'll leave the village immediately after rebirth or stay there some time?..."