Castle Kingside

“Now,” Samuel whispered.

Dimitry’s hand burrowed into the ground and pulled out some wet gravel. He hurled it at the closest watchman.

The mixture of small rocks and dirt hit the back of a leather-garbed man’s helmet. He looked around in confusion and reached for the glowing mace at his waist.

Samuel and Arnest aggravated the other targets.

“Keep throwing until we get their full attention.”

One, two, then three watchmen marched closer.

Hyperventilating, Dimitry had second thoughts, but it was too late to back out now.

Snarled visages in full view, the watchmen picked up speed as they approached. A pebble hit one in the face, coaxing blood from his nose. The sound of their heavy leather boots pounding moist gravel drowned out the soft pitter-patter of rain against the surrounding ground and buildings.

“Run!” Arnest dashed.

Dimitry’s legs froze. He urged them to move; they had to move, but his body refused to listen. Why now?

“Stop fucking around, kid!” Samuel tugged his arm. “Let’s go!”

That was the jump start Dimitry needed. Instant relief. The bandages wrapping his injured foot unfurled when he pushed off the ground, and his wound cried in agony. Thankfully, adrenaline soon numbed the pain.

The road ahead seemed to stretch out forever. His companions’ blurry figures ran ahead.

Panting and stomping boots of three approaching watchmen echoed off of nearby buildings.

Dimitry was close to the first trap. His best chance at escape. Anticipation soared within as he turned into the alley with too much speed, his feet skidding across the ground. Skin ripped from his injured foot’s sole. There was no pain—just the sensation of rocks grinding into exposed flesh.

A watchman shouted, but overwhelming chaos jumbled their words.

Dimitry bolted towards the rigged crates, where his compatriots waited for him. “Arnest! Now!”

“Yeah!”

A stack of wooden crates and loose timber collapsed to block the alleyway. The watchmen struggled to push the wreckage aside.

The three homeless men dashed for the next checkpoint.

Samuel wore a grin when he looked back. “You’re a fuckin’ genius, kid!”

“Compliment me later.” Dimitry glanced back to estimate how much time his trap bought them. Perhaps fifteen seconds—more than enough to get away.

Perpendicular to them, two metal-clad guards strolled down a broad street.

“Shoot! Shoot them!” an irritated voice called from behind.

The guards drew their crossbows.

Dimitry’s heart skipped a beat. Where did they come from? Why did they have to be here now? A bolt whizzed past as he slid into another alley.

Samuel was already there. The aged man leaned against the wall, gasping for breath. “H-hurry the fuck up.”

Arnest rapidly approached. “Almost there!”

“He’s through!” Dimitry destabilized the second trap.

Piled debris collapsed to plug the narrow alleyway, trapping both crossbowmen. However, unlike the watchmen from before, only one dug through assorted trash. The second armed his crossbow with a purple-glowing bolt.

“They’re gonna shoot!” Arnest warned.

“No fucking shit,” Samuel yelled. “Run!”

Dimitry stared at the bolt’s ominous aura. Regardless of the imbued magic, the alley was too long and narrow to dodge a projectile. Disarming the guard was the safest choice.

“You two go on ahead!” Dimitry kicked a rain-soaked crate into the aiming crossbowman’s face.

The container broke against the guard’s helmet. His weapon dropped.

Arnest flashed a victorious smile. “Fuck yeah!”

“Shut-up-and-run!” Samuel said between wheezes.

Relief swept across Dimitry as he sprinted into the next street. There was plenty of time to escape. They would live.

“Fuck, they’re… they’re shooting again!” Samuel yelled. “Watch out!”

Although the guards misaligned their crossbows and were unlikely to score a hit, Dimitry preemptively dodged.

Another bolt darted past.

Ahead, Arnest dove to the side. The projectile narrowly missed, and the young man slipped over wet gravel. Falling to the ground, a jagged beam from a market stall stabbed into his clothes.

“Arnest!” Dimitry said. “You alright?”

“Go, go! It’s just a snag. I’m fine.”

Samuel rested against a wall. “Hurry… the fuck… up. Both of you.”

Wasting too much time fumbling to get loose, Arnest dashed away from the stall, sharp wood ripping away a layer of grimy clothes. A torn pouch flew out from underneath. Over a dozen gambling pieces and coins clanged as they fell onto gravel, glittering green under sparse moonlight.

Dimitry said nothing. They had to keep moving.

Eyes open wide, Arnest patted his rags. He stopped. His head shot back.

“Don’t even think about it!” Samuel said. “We’ll come back for them later.”

“But my gadots… and my knuckle-bones!” Arnest surged towards the alley, where a crowd of armed men pushed away debris.

“Kid! Stop that idiot before he gets himself killed!”

Dimitry grabbed Arnest’s arm. “Samuel’s right. Some gold and silver isn’t worth your life.”

“It’s all I got from my dad and, and my village, and I need—”

“Just buy some more gambling pieces later, you god damn fucking addict!” Samuel shouted. “Stop being a little bitch and run!”

“I’ll just get the knucklebones.” Arnest pushed Dimitry to the floor. “I’mma catch up with you two.”

Dimitry gritted his teeth. Torn between anger at being tossed aside during a deadly chase and self-loathing at abandoning a friend, his priority was staying alive. Helping was suicide. He had to get to the safe haven. Cold rain trickling down his face, he rolled off the floor.

Samuel, however, stood frozen. His bloodshot eyes were wide open. “T-they’re going to shoot!”

“I almost got ‘em—”

The sound of a high-velocity impact with flesh followed by something heavy flopping against moist gravel.

“Arnest!” Samuel ran towards the crossbowmen.

Breathless, Dimitry glanced back.

The youthful man knelt. Hands at his hip, he tugged at a purple glow. Arnest struggled to remove the crossbow bolt entrenched in his lower back.

An oppressive weight solidified inside Dimitry’s gut. He wanted to shout, to tell Arnest he would bleed to death if the bolt came out, but the words didn’t take form.

“Kid, you’re a bigshot fucking barber-surgeon, right? Give me a hand!”

Dimitry hesitated. A lack of surgical tools and disinfection methods made penetrating abdominal injuries deadly. Ruptured organs, bleeding, and shock would kill Arnest before long. If they didn’t, hypothermia would. A rescue was suicide for everyone involved. Why should Dimitry risk similar injury?

Fuck.

If Samuel attempted a solo rescue, both men would die.

Dimitry had no choice. He rushed to help Samuel bring Arnest to his feet, who grunted while limping. They crawled past an alleyway and onto another street. The signal flare Agatha promised was their only hope. Unfortunately, black clouds alone dominated the sky.

Was it sweat or rain that trickled down Dimitry’s face? He hadn’t the time to check. His only concerns were the weight that leaned against his shoulder, the foreboding stench of blood, and the sound of crates being overturned behind.

“Just leave me, ya idiots.” Arnest coughed. “It was my fault.”

“Shut up!” Samuel yelled, his voice strained.

The weight hanging over Dimitry’s shoulder grew heavy. Although the weak breaths brushing his nape indicated Arnest was alive, he wouldn’t stay that way for long. They neared the final alleyway, but the safe haven remained distant.

The sound of boots pounding gravel neared.

“Leave—”

“I said, shut the fuck up!” Samuel shouted. His eyes were bloodshot and desperate, like those of a concerned father hovering over their son’s deathbed.

Despite wanting to agree with Arnest’s request, the lump in Dimitry’s throat choked his words before they could take form.

The sounds of rebounding string and pierced flesh.

Dimitry stumbled when the weight he carried grew twice as heavy.

Arnest tumbled to the ground. His chest rose and sank to the rhythm of labored breathing. Beside him, a wounded Samuel. A bolt pierced the old man’s shoulder. He squirmed on the ground.

Clanking footsteps approached.

Despair washed over Dimitry. Although treating Samuel was a possibility, he didn’t have time to play the hero. There were only seconds before the watchmen caught up. His trembling hand fished inside the pouch strapped to his waist for his only pure vol pellet.

“Invisall!”

Dimitry’s body convulsed. The world spun around him. Magic burned within while icy rain cooled skin without as he pushed off the ground.

A wet leather glove reached for his shoulder, but lubrication from the rain allowed him to brush it off.

“Celeste guide me. There is a bum who can disappear!”

“The Shire-Reeve wants him alive!”

They knew who Dimitry was.

Heaving for breath, he dashed into the final alleyway. Pouring rain bounced off his body, outlining his silhouette. Hiding was impossible. He just needed to get through this alley. He just needed to reach the safe haven!

Atrophied legs made nimble by adrenaline, Dimitry vaulted, ducked, and squeezed through piles of rubbish. The armored guards had trouble doing the same.

His thoughts gravitated towards the men he left for dead.

No.

Now wasn’t the time to think about them, especially when he couldn’t guarantee his own survival.

Dimitry rushed into a densely clustered maze of cottages. Their dilapidated roofs merged into a shield that blocked the rain and whatever green moonlight pierced the upper atmosphere. Water flooded in from the surroundings, forming deep mud pools that drowned the narrow gaps between buildings.

The safe haven.

Back pressed against uneven walls, Dimitry navigated through a labyrinth of houses fanning out in every direction. He clamped his nose to counter the vile stench of rehydrated decaying matter.

Guards and watchmen stomped through puddles behind him.

“Spread out! Whoever finds him gets the biggest cut.”

Protruding wood fibers scratched Dimitry’s legs and neck, further irritated by the piercing wind. Dispersed droplets drummed against his head as they fell from a leaky canopy of roofs.

The chase wore him out. Every movement left Dimitry gasping for air, but he had to push forward. If not for his own sake, then for Samuel’s. He escaped the cottage jungle and emerged onto another road.

From the port’s direction, scattered lights soared into the air, whose luminescence contrasted an overcast sky. It was the signal Agatha mentioned.

Dimitry’s fist slammed into the wall. Why the hell didn’t the flare come sooner? Just a minute earlier and… and maybe it wouldn’t have turned out like this. As he continued to run, one foot stumbling in front of the other, something gnawed at him from inside.

Since the crossbow bolt lacked sufficient force to pass through Samuel’s shoulder, if it hit solely the trapezius and missed every major artery along the way, the old man could be alive. There was a chance.

As the adrenaline wore off, every movement intensified the aching of Dimitry’s bones. Fine stones that covered the ground were knives stabbing into the enlarged gash on his sole. His stomach was an empty pit. Sore lungs heaved for air. The chase drained everything from him; it wouldn’t surprise him if he collapsed.

He returned to the alley where he left his allies behind. Legs too shaky to keep him upright, his arm shot into a wall for balance. Dimitry checked for guards—none were nearby.

Two men lay in the middle of the road, their bodies motionless like marionettes with severed strings. Blood colored the puddle beneath them pink.

Dimitry limped towards Arnest. He brushed away the emptied leather pouch on the young man’s face, then placed two stiff fingers against his carotid artery.

No pulse.

Damn.

Were the knucklebones really worth his life?

His eyes twitched towards Samuel. Although the old man was unconscious, a shallow and rapid heartbeat resisted Dimitry’s fingers.

It brought him little comfort.

The bolt had lodged deep into Samuel’s shoulder, shattering the scapula. Fractured bone alone warranted emergency treatment, yet a more sinister possibility worried Dimitry—vascular injury. The projectile’s sharp broadhead had burrowed itself near the axillary artery. Removing the bolt without proper tools could cause hemorrhaging, and without Ringer’s lactate solution to replace lost fluids, Samuel would bleed to death in minutes. But those weren’t the only concerns.

Vision blurry, Dimitry leaned in for a closer look.

Despite the wound being too fresh for bacterial growth, infected flesh surrounded the crossbow bolt’s entry point. Was it the work of the projectile’s dark purple aura? Pulling it out would cause swift exsanguination, but leaving it in would rot Samuel’s flesh alongside other unknown hazards. Both led to tragedy.

The best choice was to rush Samuel to one of Ravenfall’s barber-surgeons. They may not have known about allergies, but even medieval physicians removed broadheads. Even if they could only contain the bolt’s magic, that was fine. Dimitry would handle the rest.

Carefully stabilizing Samuel over his shoulder to avoid aggravating the wound, he stumbled towards the closest barbershop. Every step was heavy. Every breath laborious.

A mental shock paralyzed Dimitry. No longer invisible, his legs collapsed under the weight of the man he wished to rescue, plunging both into wet gravel and dirt. Feedback sapped Dimitry’s remaining strength.

When the rain stopped, an earthy smell filled the air. It melded with the metallic scent of fresh blood. The moon emerged from behind parting clouds and painted the road a dark green color.

In the distance, oxen pulled a cart. A pair of muscular, barrel-bodied men lounged in the front seats.

Who were they?

What did they want?

Were they hostile?

Dizzy and gasping for air, Dimitry needed to escape. He willed his legs to move, and his knees plodded across pebbles and muddy puddles, but exhaustion slowed him to a crawl. Aching muscles lost their vigor before he could reach an alley.

The vehicle rolled by.

“Whoa.”

At the word, the oxen stopped. Two gargantuan men lumbered out of their seats and looked down at the road. Their bulky figures blocked out the moon, casting a shadow over Dimitry.

One of two men stepped forward. Green backlighting darkened his eyes, leaving only a fiendish grin visible. Gaze drifting from Arnest to Samuel to Dimitry, he gripped a dagger between thick fingers. “Looks like a live one and two corpses. I’ll make it three.”

“We were told to check first,” said the second, whose rounded mustache curled towards his nose.

“Weird piss green eyes, yeah, but look at him. He’s already halfway there.” He pressed the dagger to Dimitry’s neck. His grin widened, revealing a gap where front teeth should be. “Probably just a coincidence.”

“That’s not for us to decide.”

Dimitry gulped, and his Adam’s apple bulged into the dagger’s sharpened tip. He dared not move. Any closer and he could sustain arterial or venous injury. Despite fear, his friend’s fading breaths compelled him to speak.

“W-wait.” Dimitry shook Samuel’s shoulder. “This man is alive. He needs treatment.”

The mustached man stepped away from the cart, then knelt to examine the injury. “Give up on him. There’s a witheria enchantment on the bolt. His flesh will dry into a husk before long and, from what I’ve heard, it’ll feel like maggots are eating him from inside. Keeping him alive will only make him suffer.” He beckoned his twin. “Brother, the dagger.”

“No. I want to see him do it.”

The mustached man sighed. “Have it your way.” Green light illuminated his monstrous physique as he strode towards the oxen.

His gap-toothed sibling tossed the dagger, which arced through the air before piercing gravel with a metallic thunk. “Go ahead. Take it.”

Hesitation protested Dimitry’s fingers as they curled around the weapon’s hilt. The aged man lying beside him was on the verge of death. He had seen it many times before. Body turning cold, irregular pulse, periods of no breathing interwoven with gasps for air.

And the barrel-bodied men didn’t lie. The flesh around the crossbow bolt bloated into a pus-filled gash at an unprecedented speed. Bacterial cultures likely infiltrated Samuel’s bloodstream already, making the infection systemic. How long before sepsis took hold? Septic shock was a brutal death, especially for an older man in a world without antibiotics or IV fluids.

Dimitry’s jaw clenched. “There’s nothing we can do?”

The mustached man shook his head.

“How about with magic?"

“It’s too late.”

The gap-toothed brother laughed as he stood. “Just make sure not to damage the body more than you have to, surgeon. We’ll be needing it.” He leaned back against the cart, savoring every moment.

Between letting a friend suffer an excruciating end and taking their life, there was no choice at all. Dimitry yanked the dagger from the gravel road and pressed the tip to the base of Samuel’s skull. Severing the brainstem would immediately terminate life-sustaining functions including consciousness, heart rate, and breathing—the fastest and least painful death possible.

“Forgive me, Samuel.” Dimitry tucked the old man’s chin to his chest to expose a direct path to the brain. “Hope you get to sail in another life.”

Too weak and fatigued to summon sufficient force to pierce tough tissue with arms alone, Dimitry’s knee dropped onto the dagger’s hilt. Its slender blade plunged beneath the occipital bone, sliced through the atlanto-occipital membrane and penetrated dense meningeal layers to obliterate the medulla oblongata at the base of the brain.

Respiratory arrest coaxed reflexive gasps from Samuel, whose chest neither rose nor fell. Dimitry pressed two shaky fingers against the old man’s neck. His pulse grew erratic and stopped.

The deed was done.

Samuel would never feel pain again.

Fatigued, hungry, and now mourning, a soft whimper escaped Dimitry. Samuel wasn’t the first man he killed. On an operating table, life hung in a delicate balance, never guaranteed. But this was different.

Dimitry struggled to retrieve the dagger, its rusted blade now gleaming scarlet with blood and cerebrospinal fluid, and tossed it aside.

The gap-toothed man clapped as he lumbered towards Dimitry. “Good show, good show! Now let’s get the fuck out of here before the watchmen come. I don’t want to waste my gadots on bribes. Delphine already pays them enough.” He yanked the crossbow bolts out of Samuel and Arnest, threw the two lifeless husks and Dimitry onto the cart, and clambered into the front seats.

“Walk.”

The cart picked up speed.

“These oxen are pissing me off. It’s fucking freezing out. I want to get back and warm up,” the gap-toothed man said.

“Obviously, they aren’t going to be as fast as your horse,” said his twin.

“If you think mine is fast, you’ve never ridden Delphine’s! She really knows how to ride.”

“Did you learn how well she rides from first-hand experience?”

He laughed. “That’s not for you to know.”

Only buildings, the homeless, and scant guards populated Ravenfall’s dark green streets. As if it were just another day, they ignored the fresh stench of blood wafting from the cart.

Dimitry shook. He wanted to run, to flee, but trembling was all he could do. Even if he mustered the strength to move, exhaustion, an injured foot, and invisall’s lingering feedback limited him to a crawl. The brothers would catch him with ease, and they wouldn’t show mercy.

“The moon’s looking like a nice, plump woman,” the mustached man said.

“Yeah, I think I’m going to stay inside the walls for the next few days.”

“You sure you don’t want to come hunt enraged fyrhounds? I’ll lend you my longbow.”

“You’re a crazy bastard, you know that?”

The cart approached a townscape radiating crimson light—Tenebrae’s domain. It flourished even at night. People from all walks of life traversed muddy streets, each searching for some perverse pleasure.

Dimitry’s eyes shifted from the road to the two corpses beside him. In a morbid way, it was funny. He, Samuel, and Arnest left here a few hours ago, and now they returned. Or at least their bodies did. Two were dead.

His troubled smile vanished. Were their deaths Dimitry’s fault? How could they be? He didn’t make them take the job, nor did he compromise the plan. Why should he take responsibility? Rationalization did nothing to quell the unease festering in his gut.

Dimitry closed Samuel and Arnest’s stiff eyelids, concealing wide stares that seemed to discover a shocking truth in the somber sky above. The men deserved their rest. After all, it was a job complete.

“Whoa.”

Wooden wheels creaked as the cart came to a halt. It stopped beside the same brothel the three homeless men passed after they left Agatha’s alehouse. The two muscular men alighted the cart and walked towards Dimitry, who sat cross-legged in the back.

The gap-toothed man scratched his ear, which had a bite-shaped chunk missing. “Get the fuck out.”

Dimitry tumbled out of the cart, and his exposed legs sank into mud. He shuddered. What if some parasitic life form penetrated his open wounds? Could he disinfect them somewhere?

The mustached brother spoke softly. “Can you move?”

“I think so.”

“Take him to Delphine,” gap-tooth said. “I’ll handle the corpses.”

The man twirled the corner of his mustache, then beckoned Dimitry to follow. They walked through the brothel’s front door.

Upon entry, the musk of sweat and faint lavender tainted the air. Blinding crimson light from glowing stones illuminated a vast hall, which overflowed with the banter of half-naked women. They seduced, no, tantalized their drunken prey. Like black widows cocooning a meal, they spun silken thread and whisked their masculine snack upstairs.

“We’re going to the third floor,” said the mustached man.

After an arduous climb up a flight of stairs, they passed through a long hallway. Timber flooring hosted dry and moist dirt boot prints that scattered in every direction. Screaming, panting, and stressed wooden squeaks emanated from closed doors on either side.

Dimitry winced. He had no qualms with prostitution, but the diseases unprotected sex spread was another matter. A world lacking condoms and hygienic practices would… no, it was too early to judge. Maybe they didn’t have pernicious diseases like the ones on Earth.

They reached the third floor. Like a stilted office, it was quieter than the ones below. At the end of a short hall lined with doors was a spacious reception room. As if emulating royalty, it displayed blue-tinted furniture, paintings, and plinths.

The man’s hairless head reflected colored light as he turned to meet Dimitry’s gaze. “Delphine speaks politely, but don’t make her mad like the last few guys. Mind your manners… if you have any.”

Something cold slithered down Dimitry’s spine. What did he mean by the last few guys? Was he replacing someone? Where did they go?

Sat upright at the end of a long table on a silver-trimmed oak chair was a woman. The crow’s feet etched into the corners of her eyes belied the impression of youth her slender figure suggested. “Dominic, who’s this?”

“We rode towards the port like you asked and found him and two other dead men.” Dominic’s mustache flopped with every word. “Pale green eyes like the rumors, right?”

The woman rose from her chair. Her lapis-lazuli-bedazzled dress trailed behind her as she strutted forward. With a graceful gesture, Delphine swept her hair aside to reveal brown eyes that locked onto Dimitry’s. “Indeed. But his appearance hardly befits that of a surgeon. Agatha mentioned your name as Dimitry. Is that correct?”

Dimitry struggled to stay upright. “Yes.”

“She said to give you this if you survived.” Delphine flicked a gold gadot that rolled across the hardwood floor. “For a job complete.”

The coin hit his muddied foot and fell over. A crowned man engraved into its side seemed to laugh at him with an unflinching stare.

Dimitry’s fist clenched. Was this Agatha’s idea of introducing him to an acquaintance? Were Samuel and Arnest’s lives really worth so little? “The three of us were promised three gold gadots.”

“Normally, I’d say one shall have to make do with one, but let it be known that I am no miser.” Delphine snapped her fingers. “Dominic, how much is in your pockets?”

“A few silvers and coppers, madam.”

“Give them to him.”

Coins showered Dimitry’s muddy legs, each metal clang pushing his fury closer to an intractable brink. He reeled in his anger. Now wasn’t the time to make enemies. That came later. “Thanks.”

“Now, on to personal business.” Delphine curled her hair around a finger. “How much do you know about the human body?”

“More than anyone else in Ravenfall.”

“You’re conceited, but most physicians are. Have you ever attended university?”

Dimitry was too exhausted to conceive believable lies. “Seven years.”

“S-seven years?” Dominic’s mouth hung open.

Delphine’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me, which noble household are you from?”

“I’m no noble. Where I come from, university is… more common than elsewhere. Some of my acquaintances studied twelve years before performing their first surgery on their own.”

“Intriguing, but conspicuous. Dominic, report to me after he performs the cuts. If Dimitry is lying, I’m afraid I might lose my patience earlier than usual.”

“Understood.”

“And make sure to muddy those holy cleric rumors like Agatha suggested. We don’t want anyone snooping around.”

“Yes, madam.”

Delphine clapped. “Claudia!”

A young girl, gasping for breath, slid into the reception room. Dense makeup smothered her face like an abstract painting. It was the same girl that approached Dimitry earlier that night. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Get Dimitry cleaned up, some fresh clothes, food, and make sure his other needs are taken care of too.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Claudia smiled as her hand stretched to point the way. “Come with me.”

Dimitry plucked his ‘payment’ from the ground, then followed the girl out of the reception hall. His grip around the golden coin tightened. Unease clawed at him, whispered to him, taunted him, told him that everything was his fault. A job complete? Didn’t feel like it.

“Pretty weird how we meet again, huh?” Claudia asked.

“Yeah.”

“Samuel and Arnest aren’t with you?”

“Yeah.”

They walked down to the second floor.

A thirst for revenge raged within, but who would Dimitry target? Delphine, Agatha, the guards, himself? No. Vengeance accomplished nothing. For now, he had to survive. To heal. To recover. To learn enough about this world to avoid repeating mistakes birthed from ignorance.

Good intentions meant nothing. All Dimitry’s attempts at sparking a medical revolution did was antagonize Ravenfall’s guards, disrupt the Barber Surgeons Guild’s monopoly, apostatize a snaking religion’s beliefs, and kill two men while providing false hope to dozens more.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you all cleaned up and out of those dirty clothes soon.”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

“Yeah.”

And now, Dimitry was the property of a criminal taskmistress whose ominous words oozed disregard for life. Why did Delphine need a surgeon? What would she make Dimitry do? It didn’t matter. Through gritted teeth, he would appease her while reaping every resource and protection she offered to concoct a plan.

Claudia pointed towards a room. “This way.”

“Yeah.”

“Stop saying yeah!”

“Okay.”

This world wouldn’t push Dimitry around forever. The naïvety had come to an end.