"Not, not exactly..." He deflates. His bravado from earlier entirely gone.

Things don't just magically disappear. It just doesn't make any sense and it really bothers him. Tugs on his brain. He thinks of that little town where he was before any of this happened, where he ventured off to because-

Because.

Why did he go, again?

He got a letter inviting him. From his colleague, Burakh. Yes. And then he found the man dead and met his son, the younger Burakh, Artemy. But he did something before any of that. There was a reason in the letter, that compelled him to search out. Walk all that way alone on foot.

He can't remember.

Daniil frowns, his mood going sour again. All that and he still lost a piece of himself. It's enough to drive a man mad, frankly, and he's going to have to give someone a piece of his mind about it.

"Well, I suppose I'll figure it all out sooner or later." He snaps, "No mystery gets the better of me, Daniil Dankovsky. Death is no match for me, and neither is a few discarded items."

He didn't need them anyway! That's what he's telling himself!