When he awoke, Yarik thought he had been thrown into the Black. His flesh felt like it was being burrowed into by a thousand tiny beetles and from the pain in his bowels Yarik guessed someone had stuck a hand down his throat and tried to turn his intestines inside out. When he opened his mouth to scream the only sound that came out was a weak croak.

“Drink.” A large hand tilted his head back and poured water down it. Yarik peered through blurry vision to see who the hand belonged to. A massive square face covered by a thick black beard drifted in front of him.

“Maria.” He managed.

“Go back to sleep Yarik, you need to rest.” He felt something stab his arm, and then darkness.

For the next few moons Yarik's existence repeated the same pattern. Wake up, drink water, marvel at the amount of pain his body was in, get sedated. All of his delirious questions about Maria were deflected or ignored, even by Cavaar. The only information he was told about the blast was that it had completely demolished the outer gate, and there was a building team on its way from Dindra. As for his injuries, Yarik had sustained second degree burns on most of the skin that was facing the gate when it was demolished. After the first few moons the burned areas started to ooze a disgusting liquid that hardened into a crusty covering. He felt like an insect encased in an exoskeleton until the crust started to peel off, revealing fresh pink skin underneath.

Yarik could deal with the skin. After all, its not like he had been that good looking to begin with, but the other injuries were a different matter. For one, his leg was fractured and it would be some time before he could walk, but that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that he was half blind. There was just something missing from what his eyes told him. When Dmitri said that the damage from the pressure wave had rendered his left eye permanently blind, Yarik laughed.

“What's so funny Yarik.” Dmitri looked at him, his brow furrowed.

“This.” Yarik smiled and pointed at his eye. “All this!” He gestured to the burned flesh on his arms and flung them outwards around the room. “It just seems like a bad joke. I can imagine it now. One guy says to another:

'Hey! What's worse than a bastard whose mother was a whore?'

'I don't know.' Says the other one.

'A burned, broken bastard whose mother was a whore - with one eye!' Hahaha.” Yarik's pained laugh trailed off and he realized that it was quite a bad joke, the punch line didn't even make sense. He hung his head.

“Get some rest, Yarik. You're gonna need it.”

“For what?” He looked up, but Dmitri was already gone.

It was close to dawn by the time Yarik could finally walk. They gave him a cane to support the weight of his right leg, but told him to put as much weight on it as he could bear - something about stimulating healing. He placed an eye patch over his left eye and took the first few unassisted steps he had taken in a month. His leg screamed at him but he grimaced and took another step. Another step towards the door and more pain. Yarik stumbled and clutched his crutch. He straightened out and made another step, then another.

He stepped out of the door and admired how much light could change a place. Dawn was only a few moons away, and the sun was making its imminent arrival known. Yarik marveled at the stones of the castle wall on the other side of the yard, a sight he hadn't been able to see from where he was standing since the sun last set.

He had never stopped to consider the significance of a sunrise or a sunset. After all they happened every fullday, but now, leaning on a cane and itching at a brand new eye patch he couldn't deny there was some poetry to the timing of it all. He turned his head and surveyed the broken gate. The debris had been cleared in preparation for the builders, but the pre-dawn haze of light mingled with the moon's rays illuminated a charred section of grass where the explosion had happened. He hobbled closer and positioned himself where he had been standing. It was a miracle that he had survived, standing right here and reaching to touch the shoulder of… Maria.

The thought struck him like a thunderbolt. How could he have forgotten? Had she sustained injuries? Were they worse than his own or could she be… no. Yarik had survived. That must mean she had as well. He needed to find Dmitri, he needed to-

The moonlight flashed on an object in front of him. He bent down, picked it up. Trampled by many boots into the earth, overlooked and insignificant to anyone but him, the silver strand was faintly visible between his finger and thumb. Yarik stared at it for a long time, recalling the memory of Maria's hair reflecting the silver moonlight that night. How it shone pale and pure upon her skin as they sparred. Then the explosion, the fire erupting so suddenly and so fast as he reached towards Maria to apologize. His fingers had brushed her hair just before the shock wave… and then darkness.