‘Before he descended into the darkness after me, he spent two years in Asturias and here, in the south, watching the Iberian bull games, taking every opportunity to take part. He learned deceptive movements. Techniques that can exhaust a bull and confuse it. That's why I couldn't kill him right away.’

‘But he couldn't kill you either,’ the Scarlet said contemptuously.

‘He didn't intend to,’ the tauran was surprised. ‘He led me out of the darkness and protected me until my eyes got used to the light. He taught me everything, from literacy to martial arts and I am grateful for that, even though he did it for his own gain. He was young and, I believe, wanted to strengthen his power in the Order at any cost.’

‘If you're so grateful to him,’ Scarlet snapped, ‘why did you run away, tail between your legs? Why did you leave him, our God and the Order?’

Asterius roared with laughter.

‘Tail between...legs? A tail?! Which of your books says that all the dirty work should be done for you by someone who grows a tail in rage? And your God... Listen, if you really are the Grandmaster's son, your mother must have been incredibly simple-minded.’

The Scarlet’s face hardened, but the tauran suddenly touched his chest and bowed:

‘Forgive me. It was you I wanted to insult. Why are you so gullible? Had the Order worshipped a horse, the Grandmaster would have brought a centaur. If it were wolf, he’d find a werewolf. And for a falcon... well, I don't know... Seduced a flock of mad erinyes? I have as much to do with your god as the new moon you worship as one of his incarnations.’

The Scarlet frowned in silence. He listened to the measured, steady beat of the waves against the rock. He himself could not say why he was so enraged. He had never known his mother, couldn't even imagine what she was like. Never spared her a thought. He was believed to be the son of a Scottish thane, although it was strange that the thane would give his eldest to the Order. Yet, the thane never wronged him and treated him the same as his other children. When the Order summoned him (the Grandmaster himself arriving), the thane told him he could return whenever he chose. He would be welcomed in this house anytime and in any way. And he made his brothers swear an oath. But were they truly his brothers? A single glance at the Grandmaster was enough — he understood everything at once. It was as if he had been given a magical mirror — one that reflected the man he would one day become.

The thane was grey-eyed, bearded, with long, greying, but previously mouse-coloured hair. Intelligent. Too kind. Brave. A good man, but... quite ordinary. But the Grandmaster…

For a long time, the Scarlet yearned to see in the mirror the same gaze - steel tinged with blue. The ghost of a smile, wild and merciless, haunting the corners of pale lips. But that faded with time. Asterius was right. The Grandmaster feared nothing. He believed in nothing. His justice was Herculean — to repay enemies and friends with the same they prepared for him. The thirst for power did not blind him, but power seemed to be the only thing he valued.

Two fat gulls, cheekily cawing, circled over them. Asterius, throwing up a piece of sausage, contemplated the sea robbers fitting, tearing the prey from each other.

‘Think about it,’ he said, not taking his eyes off the birds, ‘your pitiful attempts to bring me back only began after the Grandmaster's death. He had the sense not to hold me by force. If the Order is crumbling, it's not because I left, but because he is no longer there.’

The sun climbed higher, igniting a scarlet path across the sea, stretching all the way to shore. The wind strengthened, driving the waves, while a fine mist of spray hung over the stone where they sat, shimmering with fleeting rainbows. Asterius was still amusing himself like a child, teasing the gulls, throwing them bread, piece after piece. A whole flock had already gathered over him. Their greedy, piercing cries somehow evoked melancholy.

The knight sighed. Everything Asterius had said was intriguing, but none of it justified his choices — nor did it change Scarlet’s resolve to bring him back to the Order, one way or another. After a pause, he cast Asterius a careful glance:

‘Is there a woman?’

The tauran shrugged:

‘A few. And?’

‘I heard about a witch... who put a curse on you.’

Asterius looked at him like at a playful puppy — friendly, but not without a slight contempt. He pulled the cloth off his shoulder, the banner of his shameful trade. Wiped his hands.

‘A witch? Well, I don't know. She couldn't kill with a glance and didn't heal by laying on her hands. She was... a medic... a wanderer, observing the oddities of cities and the marvels of travels? Something like that.’

‘A wanderer. A charlatan. Something like that,’ thought Scarlett, ‘So that's true too.’

‘Do you love your inn so dearly?’ he asked, gesturing toward Asterius’s hand. On the back of his right palm, a peculiar tattoo stood out—three petals enclosed in a circle, with an Arabic inscription winding along his forearm. From what Scarlet could decipher, it spoke of the petals of the wind.

‘Who knows how many petals the wind carries?’ the tauran muttered, examining the tattoo with a quiet smile that, for some reason, angered the knight. ‘Who knows how many of those who left their souls dead on the battlefield are now carelessly wandering the world? How many of those perished from love, live, rejoicing each day?’

‘Who cares?’ the Scarlet retorted irritably. ‘I only want to know about one — the petal that left its mark in your...’ he suddenly stopped and finished quite differently than he had intended, ‘in your life.’

Yes. That's better. In life — not in the soul. A warrior’s soul is eternal, unyielding — it cannot be sullied by unworthy emotions. True resilience is not found in those who tread an unbroken path, but in those who, after countless laurels, trophies, and victories, rise again despite the ruin they have endured.

The one who had no intention of embarking on the old paths was still looking at the signs and symbols covering his hand, like a foolish maiden trying in vain to guess her betrothed's features from her reflection in the rippling, dark water and agreed with unexpected ease:

‘Well, alright. I'll tell you. Have you heard of the Battle of El Icab?’