At the end of the evening, Kael gestured simply with his hand.
— Come with me.
They walked through the corridors in silence, their steps lighter than before.
The torch flames burned softer. The echoes on the stone, less solemn.
They reached the main dining hall of the Command Base — a vaulted chamber, adjacent to the bar, with polished stone walls and tall arched windows that looked not outside, but into suspended internal gardens lost in time.
The tables were already set.
Seven dishes.
The number was not random.
The League's head chef was a robot — discreet in appearance, faceless, constructed of darkened bronze and elegant lines. He had served the base for centuries, programmed to harmonize rare ingredients from alternate dimensions.
Around him, service automatons — silent, fluid in motion — brought trays, filled goblets, cleared plates, and polished the stone floor between courses with precise grace.
They ate well.
Subtle starters, soups with herbs from the northern dimension, smoked meats cooked over Tur wood, and sauces only the League's ancient programs could compose.
There was Glaem wine, black bread, pickled olives, and a dessert made of crystallized fruit skin — which, according to Otrho, could only be harvested under a divided moon.
At first, they ate in silence.
Then, the smiles came. And with them, conversation.
Kael spoke little — but listened to everything.
---
Later, in the adjoining bar, their bodies relaxed.
The bartender, another robot — taller, with amber-lit eyes and deliberate movements — crafted drinks with a grace that bordered on human.
The witches sipped wine, rum, dark ale, and even tried a sweet chili liqueur that Marie called "a bit insolent, but charming."
Kael lit a cigarette and sat beside Otrho.
— I once nearly got trapped in a 4th-century village because I dropped a watch in the wrong house, — he said.
They called me a spirit of time.
Laughter echoed.
— Another mission, I had to convince a group of monks I was a minor deity's emissary.
Everything was fine… until one of them noticed the scent of tobacco.
More laughter followed.
Helena remarked how the place felt outside of time — yet somehow, exactly right.
Reina praised the wines. Patricia mentioned the base's quiet as something sacred.
As the energy mellowed and voices softened, Kael stubbed out his cigarette and stood.
— That's enough for tonight.
The witches fell silent. All eyes turned to him.
— Each of you will have your own cabin. They were prepared earlier today.
Tomorrow, we'll talk about what comes next.
Otrho offered a quiet nod.
Kael walked toward the exit, then paused one last time before disappearing down the corridor.
— Good night, Sam Pukla.
Rest well.
You'll need it.
And he vanished into the shadows of the Comando.