The Mastiff's corpse still smoked, a mist of black essence rising from its gaping maw. Alka remained still, listening to the frantic beats of her heart calm down. The stigma on her collarbone was now just a painful ember, a searing reminder of her expenditure. And of the witness.

Elian had fled. But the fear she had seen in his eyes – that terror mixed with revulsion – was a seed that could germinate. A rumor. A denunciation. Her invisibility, so carefully cultivated, had just cracked.

She clenched her fists, her nails digging half-moons into her palms. No. She wouldn't let that happen. Not now. Not when she was so close.

She returned to camp with calculated slowness. The fires crackled, casting dancing shadows on the weary faces of the soldiers. She felt their eyes on her. Normal? Or more intent? She strained her senses, but her reservoir was too empty, her power too weak to perceive the nuances. The uncertainty was a poison.

She saw Elian, leaning against a wagon, speaking in low tones with two other soldiers. He threw a quick glance in her direction and immediately averted his eyes. The gesture was more eloquent than a scream.

She had to act. Not with strength, but with cunning. Her primary weapon.

She headed towards the fire where Captain Varek was inspecting a worn map, his thick finger tracing a path through the dead forest.

"Captain."

He looked up, his gaze piercing under his prominent brow. "Rika. The Mastiff. Elian says you took it down. Silently."

His tone was neutral. Too neutral.

"The chain gave way. I was the closest." She shrugged, a gesture she hoped was casual. "I got lucky. It was poorly chained, weakened perhaps."

Varek stared at her for a long time. His mind, even weakened, felt like a fortress of granite. Impossible to penetrate in her current state.

"Elian talks about a look. A sudden stillness." He tilted his head. "Unusual luck."

Alka felt a shiver run down her spine. She had to counter. Not by denying, but by redirecting. By sowing a greater doubt.

She lowered her voice. "Captain… Elian was terrified. I found him trembling, almost in tears. Fear can… alter memories. Make you see things that aren't there." She paused, letting the words sink in. "He's young. The dead forest weighs on the most fragile minds."

She could see Varek's brain working. Loyalty to a soldier versus the pragmatism of keeping a useful weapon. Elian's fear was a fact. Her usefulness was another.

A grunt came from Varek's throat. "The forest does not forgive weakness. Deal with him." He narrowed his eyes. "Be persuasive. I don't want rumors undermining morale."

It was an order. And an opportunity.

She inclined her head slightly. "Understood."

She found Elian near the water reserves, alone at last. He started when he saw her approach.

"Rika… I… I told them you saved me."

But his eyes said the rest. *I told them what I saw.*

"Elian," she began, her voice soft, almost maternal. She was still too weak for a direct intrusion, but words could be poisons just as effective. "What you saw… fear plays tricks on you."

He shook his head, stubborn. "I saw it. You looked at it and it fell."

"I was concentrating. I was trying to find a weakness. You interpreted my gaze." She moved closer, lowering her voice further. "Do you know what the Captain thinks? He thinks the forest has affected you. That you're becoming unstable."

Panic dilated the young soldier's pupils. "What? No! I'm stable! I told him the truth!"

"The truth is sometimes hard to swallow. Especially when it concerns an Awakened he needs." She placed a hand on his arm. A feigned gesture of comfort. "If he has to choose between believing the version of a terrified young soldier and that of a useful Awakened… what do you think he will choose?"

Elian grew very pale. She could almost feel the conflict within him, the fear of her power against the fear of discredit.

"So… what should I do?" he murmured, defeated.

"Forget what you think you saw. Tell them the beast died of natural causes, that the forest's energy consumed it. And you, Elian, show him that you are strong. That the forest didn't get to you." She squeezed his arm. "That's how you'll survive."

It was done. She had replaced a memory with a shadow, a certainty with a profitable doubt. But it had cost her. A migraine was brewing behind her eyes, dull and tenacious.

Later, in the relative silence of the night, her crystal vibrated again. Gaël.

*Detailed report. Dylan confirmed KIA? Proof? Next objective: locate Pilaf gem depot. Suspected coordinates: Sector Theta. Confirm.*

KIA. Killed In Action. The icy acronym made her shiver. Dylan. Dead. The confirmation she had been waiting for, dreading. She wouldn't have to face his gaze, his condemnation. Just his ghost in the dark corners of her mind.

She replied, her fingers trembling slightly.

*Dylan KIA. Visual confirmation impossible, escape necessary. Hero's gem used for deep infiltration. Theta Depot: investigation in progress. High risk. Requires more resources.*

Lies. Woven with truth. She had no idea where the depot was. But she needed it. For herself. Not for Gaël. Not for Martissant. To engrave the second stigma.

The idea had become an obsession. A compulsion. Every time she used her power, she felt the ceiling of her potential. The first stigma was a key, but the second would be the door to a power she could barely imagine. Total control. No more weakness. No more fear.

The following days were an exercise in precarious balance. She walked with the convoy, using her power sparingly, driving off creatures with minimal illusions, absorbing the mental fragments of the dying to replenish her strength. She felt the stigma's power stabilize, then grow again, denser, sharper.

She watched Elian. He avoided her, but he had followed her advice. He was zealous, eager. The soldiers teased him less. The immediate threat was contained.

But something in her had changed. The incident with the Mastiff had revealed a truth: subtle manipulation had its limits. Sometimes, you had to strike. Annihilate.

A week later, the convoy halted near a deep ravine. On the other side, the ruins of a Pilaf outpost stood out against the leaden sky. Sector Theta.

Her heart raced. Chance did not exist. Only destiny.

That night, while the camp slept, she infiltrated Captain Varek's tent. He was snoring, heavy with fatigue and mead. On the table, next to the map, was a sealed leather case.

Her stigma throbbed. She didn't need to open it. She could *feel* what it contained. A faint gleam of spiritual energy, similar to that of the hero's gem, but cruder, unshaped. Germs. Fragments. Enough perhaps to forge the beginning of a second stigma.

She reached out, her fingers brushing the leather. The temptation was a siren's song in her blood.

Suddenly, a hand closed around her wrist. An iron grip.

Varek was awake. His eyes, full of cold anger, pierced her in the darkness.

"I knew you'd betray us in the end, witch," he growled.

Panic overwhelmed her, white and burning. Then, just as quickly, it was replaced by an icy calm. A resolution.

She could no longer play.

She plunged her gaze into his. Her stigma ignited, drawing on all the reserves she had patiently accumulated.

Varek's mind was a bulwark. But she didn't try to go around it. She struck. With all her might. Not to kill him, but to *impose* her will.

It was a violent, silent shock. She felt her own consciousness clash with his, a brutal struggle on the ethereal plane. Images exploded: battles, faces of dead comrades, the heavy responsibility of command. She saw his fear, not that of a man, but that of a leader feeling his control slipping away.

She focused on that fear. She amplified it, twisted it, injecting an absolute certainty.

*She is not a threat,* she projected, with all the intensity of her being. *She is a tool. Your tool. Indispensable. Her loyalty is absolute. Elian lied. The forest has corrupted him. You must protect her.*

Varek grimaced, a trickle of blood flowing from his nose. His fingers tightened, then, slowly, released their grip.

His gaze changed. The anger dissipated, replaced by confusion, then a slow, dazed acceptance.

"Rika…" he murmured, his voice hoarse. "Sorry. Sleep… the nightmares."

He shook his head, completely releasing her wrist.

Alka stepped back, her heart pounding wildly. The effort had been titanic. She felt a trickle of warm blood run from her own nostril. The erosion. The price.

"Rest, Captain," she said, her voice strangled.

She left the tent, staggering, her body and mind in tatters. She hadn't taken the germs. It was too risky. But she had gained something more precious: the captain himself. Her protector.

She looked up at the ruins of the outpost on the other side of the ravine. The depot was there. The germs were there.

She had played her riskiest piece. And she had won.

But upon returning to her own space, upon catching her reflection in a basin of stagnant water, she struggled to recognize the woman staring back at her. The eyes were harder, ringed with deeper shadows. The stigma seemed to have grown, its silver veins gnawing a little more skin.

She had saved her position. She had consolidated her power. But as she forged her weapon to control the minds of others, she felt her own slipping away, piece by piece.

The second stigma was no longer a dream. It was a necessity. The only thing that could, perhaps, resolder the fragments of what she had been.

Even if, to obtain it, she had to become completely the stranger she saw in the water.

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