The darkness that had gathered around him had acquired an almost physical density, pressing down on every nerve ending. The only markers of reality that remained in memory were the suffocating, heavy smell of decomposition—a mixture of mold and rot—and an all-consuming, excruciating thirst. You were trapped in this stone crypt, which became your grave, by the will of the plague, an inexorable force that methodically erases all life. Time lost all meaning: days intertwined into weeks, and those, in turn, turned into an endless, gray kaleidoscope of hours devoid of the slightest glimmer of light, hope or food. Exhausted to the limit, you have more than once collapsed on the icy, wet stone of the floor, falling into oblivion.

It was in this abyss that, suddenly, something cut through the darkness. It wasn't light, but rather a tangible, overwhelming sensation—a presence. Powerful, stunning, imbued with something irrationally magical. It was his energy. The energy of Malbonte, your Malbonte, which you haven't seen in what seemed like forever. The agonizing thirst that drove her crazy instantly faded into the background, giving way to a cascade of unspeakable emotions: horror mixed with a sudden burst of hope and acute, violent longing.

You felt an icy, careful touch on your lips. The metallic coolness of the flask. Water... The first sip after the eternal, arid hell! This moisture, like a primordial life-giving force, gushed over your withered body, bringing not only physical relief, but also a timid, almost forgotten feeling similar to hope.

And then his voice sounded, a low, velvety timbre, in which, however, there was an inhuman, deep sadness.:

— «I'll get you out of here, just be patient a little longer.»