The chilly breeze slipped through the broken roof tiles, settling into the cracks, as the cold wove between the seats and circled the room. We were back at the Shadow Theater, a place that, from afar, wasn’t welcoming, nor did it feel like home. Yet, we had somehow grown accustomed to it—the smell of dust and mold.

  The demonic jester was already waiting for them, seated cross-legged, wearing his usual mischievous smile on stage in front of the black wall at the back. His two bells began to jingle, and slowly, the portal appeared between the black backdrop, swaying the red curtains.

  This time, the actors didn’t need the help of a gust of wind to push them through the portal. They had fought nearly to the point of death; they were tired, sore, and exhausted. Even the ruined theater seemed comfortable in their current state. Smoke from the burning forest followed them through the portal, with Tommy and Dáhlia emerging first. They were the least injured, but even they looked worn out, covered in burns. Rune, Amy, and Caius came out next, coughing dryly, limping, and displaying fresh scars and burns from battle. Vincent followed behind. Suddenly, a scream. His shirt sleeve revealed a fresh streak of blood. The others rushed to help him as he cried out.

  — What happened?! — Caius asked.

  — My-my arm... — he stuttered between cries of pain — My old wound is bleeding again.

  — That means... — Caius thought for a moment.

  A scream, much louder than Vincent’s, echoed through the theater.

  Mors had collapsed face-first in the middle of the stage, overwhelmed by a pain greater than any he had ever felt before. The pain surged through his already fragile and exhausted body.

  A cold liquid ran down his eyes as the pain filled his nerves, but these drops weren’t tears; they were red.

  — Scura! What the hell is happening?! — Caius shouted, trying to lift Mors.

  The jester, dressed in his fool’s outfit, responded with a smile:

  — You're back in the real world.

  Greater than the pain of burns and scratches was the sudden return to blindness—not only because his eyes were bleeding but because the vision of light and colors had vanished again. It was a hard blow for Mors, who was now recovering in a dressing room alone until he was startled by Caius's not-so-subtle footsteps on the stairs.

  — Mors?

  — I’m here.

  Caius entered the dressing room, spotting the boy with black hair and lifeless eyes, lying on an old mattress covered by a thin blanket. Beside him were generic medicines, bandages, and a half-full glass of water.

  — Are you feeling better? — he asked, sitting by the door.

  — I think so, but I’m still a bit weak. Is it time for dinner?

  — It is... — said the blond boy. — Sorry I didn’t bring your plate, but there’s someone who wanted to bring it to you.

  — Someone? Who? — Mors wondered. After all, who else would bring him food other than Caius? His only possible friend there, since the others seemed to fear him, especially after he had miraculously survived the battle against the colossus.

  Could it be Tommy, coming to apologize? Had saving the boy’s life twice made him put aside his ignorance, enough to finally speak with Mors for the first time?

  — Well, I think it's better if you see for yourself. — Then Caius realized the blunder he had just made and went silent for a few moments.

  Mors, sensing the mistake, felt no anger; he was used to it. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that he was blind.

  — And how are you? — Mors asked.

  — Oh, I’m fine. — Caius said, glancing at the bandages wrapped around his burns. — I barely feel them now — he lied.

  — That’s great.

  — Well, Mors, I’m going to finish my dinner. Sorry if I woke you or caused any inconvenience. — Caius then remembered — Oh, and congratulations on today’s victory.

  Caius left, trying not to make too much noise, though it was futile, as he almost tripped on his way out. Mors wasn’t sure if what had happened today had really been a victory.

  On the stairs, Mors overheard Caius whisper, “He’s awake, but tired.” At least now he knew his keen hearing hadn’t been damaged.

  And then someone much more subtle entered the room. These weren’t Tommy’s dragging steps, nor Scura’s clumsy ones. It was someone else.

  — Sorry to bother you... — It was Dáhlia.

  Mors could hear her black hair rustling in the wind coming through the broken ceiling. Her hair was down, he noticed. But why was Dáhlia here?

  — Where should I put your plate? — She asked.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  — Anywhere. — Mors replied calmly. — I’m not hungry.

  The girl, who had seemed so grown-up in Mors’s thinking at the beginning of the play, now appeared insecure and embarrassed. The girl who wielded bombs and dynamite, who had an ironclad attitude and always kept her hair tied up, seemed like a completely different person, even in the way she breathed. She placed the plate on a wooden stool in the corner of the room and sat down in the corner near Mors.

  — You were amazing today, — she exhaled — Mors.

  Amazing. Had he really been?

  — Unlike me, — she continued, downcast, — I only made the situation worse for everyone. — She stammered, — I could have killed someone.

  — I don't think it was your fault.

  — Whose would it be, then? — she said. — Who else would be so stupid? Besides worrying about the monster, you could have been blown up or killed in the fire. And it was all my fault.

  Mors couldn't disagree, in fact. The explosions and fires were caused by Dáhlia's bombs, and he could tell by her sad voice that nothing he said would make her feel less guilty.

  — If we had some kind of organization, — Mors said, — a leader, or some sort of plan, maybe none of this would have happened.

  She thought for a moment.

  — You!

  — Me? — Mors asked. — Me what?

  — You could lead us, tell us what to do, plan the play. Like a screenwriter. — She already seemed to be used to thinking of that other world as a play.

  What is Scura doing to our minds? Mors wondered. Wait, Scura!

  — Dáhlia, could you please tell me what happened? I don’t remember anything after I left the portal, — Mors said, leaning against the cracked wall of the balcony.

  Dáhlia thought for a moment, waiting for flashes of her memory to pass through her mind. Then, she turned and said:

  — You passed out from the shock.

  But it wasn’t just that. Dáhlia remembered the moment Mors’s scream echoed through the theater, and she and Caius ran to help him.

  Caius put Mors's right arm over his shoulder, patting the boy to revive him.

  — Is he... dead? — Tommy asked. It was hard to tell if his tone was one of sadness or happiness.

  — You’d like that, wouldn’t you?! — Caius said angrily.

  — He's very much alive, Tommy, — Dáhlia replied after checking Mors's breathing, giving Tommy a cold look.

  Amy, frightened, ran up the stairs to find Scura, while Vincent and Rune searched for water and a cloth to clean the blood.

  — His eyes won’t stop bleeding, — Tommy said. — Has he gone blind again?

  — I noticed, you idiot! — Caius said, shocked. He had never seen anyone bleed from their eyes before, and it was a horrible sight to him: the pupils and irises sunken in red, scarlet tears staining Mors's entire pale face. — If you're not going to help, shut your damn mouth, idiot!

  Scura descended the stairs slowly, with Vincent anxiously following behind him. Scura was holding his hat as his body swayed on the way down, and the small smile he always wore accompanied him.

  Caius glanced at Scura.

  — Calm down, children. He’ll be fine soon, — said the clown, as his poorly groomed beard gleamed in the light that streamed through the cracks of the crumbling theater. — Take care of your wounds because the show must go on...

  Caius, full of rage, let go of Mors, whose limp arm fell to the ground as he remained unconscious. He dashed forward, cutting through the air, straight toward Scura, who didn’t even have time to move. Before he realized it, Caius had already lifted him and slammed him against the wall.

  — WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, YOU BASTARD?! — Caius shouted in Scura’s face, who scratched his ear.

  — Ow, ow, ow, — said Scura, looking back at Caius. — What’s the reason for such aggression, my child?

  — SHUT UP AND ANSWER! — Caius yelled. — WHY IS MORS BLEEDING? AND WHY THE HELL DID YOU THROW US TO OUR DEATHS THROUGH THAT PORTAL?!

  — He’ll be fine, it’s just a shock of reality, that’s all, that’s all, — Scura said with a smile.— Death? What are you talking about?

  — You know what I mean, you miserable fool! That monster, the forest, and everything we just went through! — Caius shoved him against the wall, banging the man’s head. — ANSWER!

  — Caius, calm down! — said Rune, grabbing his shoulder. — Please.

  — Didn’t you see what this man did? Are you all blind?! Mors would see this madness clearer than any of you!

  — But he’s unconscious, — Tommy said.

  — And you’ll be next, you little idiot! — Caius shouted. — If you don’t shut your damn mouth, I’ll shut it with a punch!

  — Caius, calm down! — said Rune.

  But Caius’s blood was boiling, ready to explode like never before. After everything they had gone through in the portal, it seemed that he was the only one who truly grasped the danger of that confrontation in the forest. They weren’t acting. They were fighting for their lives.

  — It’s all part of the play, — Scura replied.

  — What cursed play is this, you madman?! — Caius roared again. — We all nearly died! — Caius dropped Scura to the ground. — This is insanity!

  — If you don’t want to participate anymore...

  — WHAT WILL YOU DO? TAKE HER AWAY FROM ME?! — Caius shouted, lunging at Scura again, but this time Rune and Vincent held him back just in time. — If anything happens to her, Scura, I swear to God I’ll rip off your damn head and leave it here in this cursed place!

  Free from Caius’s trembling hands, Scura stood up, brushing off his clothes.

  — I understand my mistake, — he said. — And I intend to fix it. — He looked at the others. — Go get changed and tend to your wounds. We’ll have dinner in two hours. — He looked directly at Caius, without a smile. — Nothing will happen to her as long as you stay in the play.

  The flashes ended as the bells chimed, and Scura’s call from the staircase echoed in Dáhlia’s mind, now in the present. She pulled herself together, trying to focus on the man’s voice.

  — Come, children. I need to show you a place, — he paused for a moment. — Mors, you too.