Thomas never returned that night.
Immersed in his thoughts, Anastas initially didn't even notice how the dawn broke outside the window and a new day began. Three days passed, and he was still gone. Now, when the veil of madness had finally fallen away and he firmly realized that Thomas was not Athit, that suffocating, excessive overprotectiveness with which he had previously treated his companion noticeably weakened.
Deciding that after everything that had happened, Thomas would hardly want to continue the journey with him, Anastas began to pack his things.
Suddenly, the door opened.
Thomas stood on the threshold. He entered the room and stopped. For some time, they simply looked at each other in silence. Then the youth walked over to the table and also began packing what he had.
Silence filled the room, broken only by the rustle of fabric.
"I'm sorry," Anastas finally said. "I don't know what came over me."
Thomas froze for a moment, his shoulders dropping slightly. He did not look back.
"I was a fool too," the youth replied, lowering his head.
During these long three days spent apart, each of them had had time to cool down. Time allowed them to put their thoughts in order, to think over what had happened, and to make final decisions for themselves. The storm that had raged between them had subsided, leaving clarity and conclusions in its wake.
"I am moving on," Anastas said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I dare not hold you back."
Without waiting for an answer, he turned and left the room first.
Descending the narrow staircase, he settled up with the innkeeper and stepped onto the porch, bathed in the morning sun. Outside, carelessly leaning his shoulder against the wooden wall, stood Eist.
Just a few days ago, the mere sight of the mercenary waiting for Thomas would have caused a prick of jealousy in Anastas's chest. But now, it was empty inside. He had drawn this line himself and understood that after everything that had happened, he no longer dared to harbor such feelings for Thomas—he didn't even have the right to ordinary friendly jealousy anymore.
Their eyes met. The two men gave each other only a short, restrained nod in greeting, after which Anastas descended the steps and strode away, never once looking back.
A minute later, Thomas came out. Squinting from the bright light, his first instinct was to scan the street, his eyes searching for Anastas's retreating back.
Eist unhurriedly pushed off from the log wall.
Surprisingly, that night had not destroyed their friendly bond and had not brought awkwardness with it. Eist hadn't fled at dawn after getting what he wanted, and Thomas hadn't tormented himself with pangs of shame and empty regrets. In that brief moment of weakness, Thomas had received the comfort he so desperately needed, and the mercenary had received the warmth of the one he had long desired. And now, having stepped past it, they had miraculously managed to remain friends just the same.
"Will you come with me?" Eist offered simply and without further ado. "Or are you going back home?"
Thomas lowered his shoulders slightly and shook his head.
"I think I'll continue the journey with Anastas."
He shifted his gaze to the mercenary, perfectly aware of how ridiculous this answer must sound after everything that had happened.
"I'm not a hopeless fool, don't think that," Thomas added, as if anticipating unspoken objections. "I really have thought a lot over these days. There are no more illusions. But I love him as a friend. That too. We've been together since childhood, after all. It's hard for him right now, he's confused and feels completely alone in his search, and I... I just can't leave him alone in such a state."
Thomas fell silent for a moment, and then looked into the mercenary's gray eyes quietly, with sincere and bright gratitude:
"I'm sorry. And thank you for everything."
"Are you sure?" was all the mercenary asked.
Thomas nodded silently.
A barely perceptible shadow slipped across Eist's always-calm face for a moment. He clearly hadn't been prepared for such a turn of events. The mercenary merely nodded slowly, making it clear that he understood and accepted this choice.
"In that case..." Eist paused briefly, looking straight into the youth's eyes. "I will be waiting for you on the other side. I hope next time you make a choice in your own favor."
He leaned forward and pulled Thomas into a tight farewell embrace. His heavy, reliable hand patted the youth encouragingly on the back. Pulling away, Eist held a long, intense gaze on him. He looked as if he were trying to imprint this fair hair, this now-calm face, and these clear amber eyes in his memory forever.
Mutual understanding hung in the air: this time, their paths were truly parting. It was a farewell, if not forever, then for a very long time.
Thomas returned the embrace with deep, sincere gratitude, saying goodbye not just to a traveling companion, but to a man who had saved him and helped him stay on his feet when his entire world had collapsed.
Without saying another word, they unclasped their hands and strode in opposite directions along the awakening street, each toward his own path.
The years laid a ruthless, unliftable burden on their shoulders. With every new city, with every empty hope, the search became harder and harder for Anastas. It was as if he had broken inside. Not knowing exactly who to look for or where to go, he rushed about in one place, driven by a blind, destructive obsession. With every lost trail, he grew more desperate and frantic, slowly but surely losing himself. There were moments when Thomas felt truly terrified—he watched his friend's sanity dissolve in this endless, sickly chase.
This went on for seven long years. In the final year, Thomas kept urging him to return home, to take at least a short breather, regain his strength, and resume the search later. But Anastas refused to listen to anything.
Soon, Anastas fell seriously ill. His body, exhausted by insomnia and constant tension, began to fail, but even then, consumed by fever, Anastas continued to chase his mirage. His stubbornness lasted for another three agonizing years, until the illness finally confined him to his bed.
Thomas brought Anastas back to his home estate already bedridden, balancing on the thin edge between life and death. The family was beside themselves with joy at their son's return, but this joy immediately faded the moment they saw his condition. His father immediately summoned the best healers, but all their efforts and knowledge proved futile. After examining the emaciated Anastas, the medical luminaries merely threw up their hands: the illness was of the soul, it had taken root too deeply, and ordinary medicines that healed bodily ailments were absolutely powerless here. He was fading from his own melancholy. Just like he once had.
The spacious bedroom was quiet and gloomy. Anastas lay motionless on wide pillows; his face had sharpened and grown pale. Thomas, who hadn't left his side for a step, sat nearby on a chair, looking with pain at his exhausted friend.
Anastas slowly turned his head.
"Forgive me, Tom," his voice was dry and weak.
Thomas leaned forward, squeezing his friend's cold, emaciated hand in his palms.
"I dragged you into all this and hurt you," Anastas continued, struggling to catch his breath. "Forgive me... that I cannot love you the way I should. The way you deserve it."
Thomas's breath caught. The hurt, the bitterness, and the hopes had long been erased by time, leaving only a boundless, all-forgiving devotion. Hot tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision.
Anastas weakly squeezed his fingers in return.
"Promise..." he swallowed with difficulty, gathering his strength. "Promise that in the next life, you won't let me near you."
Thomas shook his head frantically, feeling the first tear break from his eyelashes and roll down his cheek.
"Don't say that," his voice broke, sounding hollow and desperate. "I will not promise such a thing."
Anastas's lips trembled in a faint, almost imperceptible smile, which held more tenderness and regret than he had shown in all the past years.
"Being your friend was a blessing..." the count exhaled quietly, and his eyelids slowly closed.
"Anastas..." Thomas whispered through rising sobs, squeezing his hand tighter and feeling time inexorably slipping away.
Anastas passed away quietly, never regaining consciousness. He died in his spacious, warm bedroom, surrounded by his loving family. The madness and pain that had distorted his features lately finally retreated, leaving peace on his pale face.
The old woman's words had come true: he never found Athit. All his exhausting chase after the ghost of a past life, which had cost him his sanity and this entire life, had turned to dust. The illusion had remained an illusion.
For Thomas, the day the love of his life died became the end of his own world. Standing by the bed, he wept soundlessly, realizing that he had lost not just a companion and his best childhood friend, but the only person he had truly, deeply, and hopelessly loved. This love, rejected and unrequited, Thomas would carry through the rest of his life, mourning Anastas until his very last breath.
After the funeral, the youth had to force himself to live on. He threw himself into his family's affairs. Work became his only salvation and the wall with which he fenced himself off from memories. Thomas spent his days pouring over papers, accounts, and trade agreements, just to exhaust himself so much that at night he would fall into bed powerless and not see Anastas's face in his dreams.
Upon returning home, Thomas tried to track down Eist. He sent letters, made inquiries, questioned travelers in the hope of meeting again the man who had once given him warmth and seen him for who he was. But it was all in vain. The mercenary had seemingly dissolved, leaving not a single trace behind. On that distant, sunny morning on the tavern porch, they had truly said goodbye forever. Their paths never crossed again.
The fortune-teller's ruthless prediction turned out to be true not only for Anastas. Thomas's fate had been sealed that same day.
He never found his personal happiness. Thomas never married and never bound his fate to anyone else. His soul remained forever in the past, in memories.