Rewrite That Witch
CH918 · Rewrite
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Chapter 918: The Only Definite Thing

Three days.

Tilly had been walking a circuit between the magic core and the entrance hall when she saw them — four figures moving through the doorway, dirty-faced, carrying the particular kind of forced composure of people who are relieved to be back and have not yet decided how to show it. She read the whole trip in the state of them: something had gone wrong, they had adapted, they had survived.

She was about to say something measured and kind.

Then she saw Ashes’s face.

Not apologetic. Not even slightly.

“I’ve never expected,” Tilly said, with the deliberate precision of someone who has prepared this, “that a person who claims to have survived hundreds of battles in the wilderness would simply get lost.” She looked at the Extraordinary directly. “How exactly did you manage to travel from Hermes to the King’s City without wandering into the Southernmost Region? This is not what you’ve shown me before.”

“Well.” Ashes shrugged. “There were church people chasing me the whole way. Whenever I got lost, I’d catch one and ask for directions.” A beat. “And we didn’t deviate that far this time. We could still see the Taquila ruins. If the demon army hadn’t mobilized, I would have—”

“Without adequate Red Mist, they would never send their full force out.” Tilly’s voice sharpened. “The entire point of the operation was to gather information so we could defend against Devilbeast raids. But when you crushed the Stone, we only got their rear formation, at a bad angle—”

“Everyone returned safely.” Pasha’s voice arrived from the hall behind them, unhurried. “That is the ideal outcome. And the angle, while not perfect, gives us enough to judge the scale of their main force and their reinforcement patterns. His Majesty has already sent back the first witches from the north — Sylvie was among them. Our scouting capability improves significantly from today.” A tentacle gestured toward the corridor. “Rest first. Everyone.”

“We got messages from the Northern Region?” Ashes’s brows went up.

“Yes.” Pasha’s tone was dry. “Fortunate timing for you, as it happens.”

“Well.” Tilly drew a short breath through her nose. “Excuse me. I need to—”

“Wait.” Ashes caught up in two steps, with the ease of someone whose stride was considerably longer. “Pasha told you to do this, didn’t she?”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“She told you I didn’t sleep much and that I’d been sitting with the magic core, and that you should forgive my bad mood and comfort me when I got back.” Tilly turned and looked at Ashes’s expression. “I can see it on your face.”

“Amazing,” Ashes said, with genuine surprise.

“So.” Tilly folded her hands. “Could you apologize first?”

“No.”

Tilly stared. “No?”

“No.” Ashes’s voice was calm. “You weren’t in any danger. That’s all I need for a decision.”

“You don’t understand.” Tilly felt the anger arrive cleanly, without the mess of something unexamined. “Every risk can be calculated, measured, and minimized. That calculation includes the person performing the task. If the person isn’t suited to the task, a perfect plan still fails. Do you understand? If it had been me, it wouldn’t have reached the point it did.”

“Calculate, measure, minimize.” Ashes tilted her head. “You sound more and more like Roland Wimbledon.”

“Don’t change the subject.” Tilly’s eyes didn’t move. “Am I wrong?”

Ashes was quiet for a moment. When she answered, she stepped closer — and because she was taller, she bent forward to bring their eyes level, her hands settling on Tilly’s shoulders with the weight of certainty rather than apology.

“No. You’re not wrong.” Her voice dropped. “But listen. We’ve decided to stay here and fight demons. That means I’ll take more of these chances. I’ll go to dangerous places. One day, I may not come back, and I won’t have the chance to apologize for the worry I caused.” She held Tilly’s gaze. “I have a very good reason not to apologize to you. If I started, I’d owe you more than I could count. And I won’t ask you to apologize to me when I worry about you, either.”

“Don’t use that against me—”

“Tilly.” She waited for the silence. “I’m not as talented as your brother. I don’t have his way of thinking about futures and strategy. What I have is this — I’m good at taking risks. That’s what I’m here for. If you’ve decided to go back to Sleeping Island, I’ll promise you right now that I’ll never make you worry again. But here, I can’t promise that. I don’t know how.”

Tilly looked into the golden eyes — steady, unapologetic, and under all of it, something that was not quite asking and not quite offering.

She could not find a rebuttal. She knew that she should be able to, and that the inability said something she did not want to examine closely.

She turned her head aside.

“I’ll forget this incident for now,” she said. “But you’ll tell me everything later. And go shower. You smell terrible.”

“Alright.” Ashes let out a slow breath. “Do you want to—”

“No,” Tilly said. “Not now.”

She watched the Extraordinary leave — the straight back, the unhurried step, the complete absence of anything like guilt — and when she was alone, she lifted her right hand.

The prick-mark on her palm had healed. The skin was smooth again. The pain had faded to a memory of itself.

It’s fine. She lowered her hand. I’m thinking too much.

When Lorgar woke, the first thing she noticed was the absence of pain.

It was such a complete absence that it registered as a presence of its own — a warmth that had replaced the damage, like standing in sunlight after a long time in the dark. She lay still for a moment, taking inventory of her own body: the fingers moved. The arm moved. The dizziness that had been her constant companion since the Western Zone was gone.

Nana. She remembered it in pieces — the sound of quick footsteps, the girl’s face flushed from running, the first words: Have a good sleep. You’ll be fine when you wake up. And after that, the feeling of Nana’s magic moving through her like warm water filling a vessel, and then nothing. The nothing had been the most comfortable thing she had ever felt.

She was trying to put the pieces together when she registered that someone was in the room.

A grey-haired man.

“Great chief?” Her voice came out smaller than she intended.

“Yes.” Roland nodded. “How do you feel?”

“I’m not sure how to describe it.” She tried her fingers again. Still clumsy, but moving. “I think I’m fine. How long was I asleep? Where’s Nana? And — what are you doing?”

Roland withdrew his hand from her ears with the dignified speed of a man who has been caught doing something he intended to be caught doing eventually, just not exactly now.

“I was curious how they feel,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind. Are they — do they feel like ordinary ears?”

“They’re just ears.” Lorgar looked at him with the expression of someone who finds a situation baffling but not unpleasant. She wiggled both ears experimentally. “You can touch them if you want. I don’t mind.”

“I’m satisfied for now.” He coughed once. “You’ve slept about three days. Normal duration for injuries of that severity — without the long sleep, you would have recovered anyway, but the process would have been considerably more unpleasant. Your body made the right choice when Nightfall stopped the Symbiosis.” He paused. “You’ll be hungry soon.”

“Nightfall — and the other witches.” Lorgar tried to sit up. “I should go thank them.”

He pressed her gently back down. “There’s time. But before that — on behalf of the City of Neverwinter, I want to say something.” He looked at her steadily. “You did well, Lorgar Burnflame. Neverwinter will reward you.”

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