CHAPTER 63: MIMIC BRACELET

The cold wind blew in gusts, dragging snowflakes onto the road, like white veils dissolving into the air. The sky remained gray and heavy, and the sound of hooves on broken ice was the only constant cadence in that lonely landscape. Ester rode ahead, her dark cloak swaying like a living shadow. Her chestnut horse followed obediently, steadily, indifferent to the biting cold.

Damon followed behind, atop the black horse that snorted with every step, restless, yet always responding only to him. The sensation was still strange. Riding that beast felt like a contradiction: there was raw power and savagery in every muscle, but also a silent acceptance that connected him to the animal. Almost as if they shared the same blood.

The silence had lasted for more than half an hour. Impatiently, Damon licked his parched lips and adjusted his spear on his shoulder. His eyes wandered to the horizon, to the endless road, and finally decided to break the void.

"You know... it was actually a good thing we found those bandits," he said suddenly, his voice echoing through the surrounding pines.

Ester didn’t slow down or look at him. She simply asked dryly,

"Why?"

Damon lifted a leather pouch that rattled at his waist. The metallic sound clinked in the frigid air.

"Silver coins," he replied with a short smile. "They were full of them. I think the looting was going well before they crossed our path."

The black horse whinnied softly, as if laughing along with him. Damon stuffed the pouch back in and continued:

"I won’t lie. It’s almost like a reward. The road gives us enemies, but it also pays for them."

Finally, Ester spoke, her voice calm and cold as cracking ice:

"During the winter, there are always more bandits."

Damon blinked, intrigued. "What do you mean?"

"When snow covers the fields, no one plants, no one harvests. Trade dwindles. Smaller villages suffer from famine." She paused briefly, adjusting the reins. "Then bands appear. Hunters who lose their prey, unemployed workers, deserting soldiers. The road fills with desperate men. Everyone wants to survive."

The tone of her voice held no compassion, only the statement of fact. Damon was silent for a moment, reflecting. The faces of the men he had killed still came to him in flashes. They weren’t trained warriors. They weren’t monsters. They were just... people trying to survive.

He bit the inside of his mouth, uncomfortable with the weight of the thought.

"Hm," he murmured. "If you put it that way, you almost feel sorry for them."

Ester glanced at him over her shoulder, her icy blue eyes locking with him for just a moment.

"Pity is useless," she said, turning back. "You only hesitate, and hesitation kills."

The words struck deep. Damon took a slow breath, but didn’t respond. Instead, he settled back in the saddle and let the silence fill the road again. The wind brought with it an even sharper gust, snowflakes whipping against his face.

He blinked uncomfortably, but then realized something strange. He wasn’t cold.

The thought made him frown. He looked at his exposed hands, the pale skin stained with dried blood. He felt the chilly air against them, but there was no pain, nor the numbness he’d seen in other men who exposed themselves to winter without gloves.

"Strange," he said softly.

"What?" Ester didn’t slow her pace, but her attention was on him.

"I... I don’t feel cold," Damon replied. "The snow, the wind... nothing. It’s like it doesn’t affect me." He laughed to himself. "I almost thought it was some kind of horse effect."

Ester let out a sound that might have been a muffled laugh, but there was more disdain than humor in it.

"It’s not the horse," she said. "It’s the bracelet."

Damon blinked, confused. "The bracelet...?"

She finally looked back, her eyes fixed on his wrist.

"The one Elizabeth gave you. The artifact you use to maintain your human form."

Damon instinctively lowered his gaze. The bracelet was there, securely fastened to his left wrist. It was simple, aged silver, with small carvings that looked more like scratches from time than runes. He remembered well when Elizabeth had given it to him. He hadn’t understood much at the time, just accepted it.

Now, looking closely, he noticed something he’d never noticed before: a soft, almost invisible pulse running through the lines of the metal. As if it were breathing alongside him.

Ester continued, her voice firm:

"The Mimic bracelet. It’s more than a disguise." It protects your body from adversity.

"Adversity..." Damon repeated softly, his eyes still fixed on the artifact.

"Hmm... adversity would be the weather," he thought. And not just the weather, perhaps.

He remembered the nights he’d walked in freezing rain without feeling soaked. The times when small wounds healed faster than they seemed capable of. He’d never connected the dots.

The cold piece on his wrist now seemed much more than a simple ornament.

He raised his arm, letting the gray light of the sky reflect off the worn metal. The black horse snorted softly, as if sensing the power there.

"What if I take it off?" he asked suddenly.

Ester didn’t hesitate. "You’ll lose your shape."

"And I’ll be... cold?"

She was silent for a few seconds. Then she answered sharply:

"You’ll probably die in a few minutes from the cold. Stop acting like an imbecile."

The words fell heavily. Damon felt his stomach churn. He didn’t press further. Silence returned, only the jingling of reins and the rhythmic sound of hooves filling the space.

He lowered his arm slowly, his gaze still fixed on the bracelet. A gift from Elizabeth, the only anchor that kept him human—or at least close to it. An object that hid him from the world and, at the same time, protected him.

"She trusted you when she placed this on your arm," Ester said after a few minutes, without turning around.

Damon looked up. "Elizabeth?"

"Yes." Ester adjusted the cloak on her shoulders. "Not just anyone receives an artifact like that. A Mimic is rare, and dangerous to keep. If it fell into your hands, it’s because she believes you can use it without losing yourself."

Damon let out a dry laugh. "Funny. Because, honestly, I don’t know if she was right."

Ester didn’t answer. She just rode on in silence, as if the sentence had been swallowed by the wind.

The road continued. The sun was already low, filtered through the gray clouds, tinting the snow with somber golden hues. Pine-covered hills rose on either side, long shadows stretching across the ice. The world seemed asleep except for the two travelers and their horses.

Damon looked at the bracelet again. The cold metal reflected his own distorted image. He wondered what he would see if he actually removed it. What creature would emerge beneath the skin.