The cold shower blasted his skin, sluicing brown water down the drain. Zetius stood under the spray, letting it wash away not just the mud but the sorrow clinging to the back of his mind.

  The bathroom was a small, white-tiled rectangle with a toilet and a plain sink. Simple, but surprisingly clean under the warm, yellowish glow of the overhead bulb. It looked like the live-in quarters behind a shop, the kind of place an owner would keep slaves to work and guard the property.

  "That makes sense," he murmured, recalling the small table, futon, and a few appliances he’d seen in the main room. Cintia and May must have lived and worked here. "Such gentle hearts."

  A flash from his last battle seared through his thoughts, the seething pain as his body was torn apart. Zetius clenched his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut.

  "I… lost," he hissed, his fingernails scraping against the tiled wall. Frain, Aurelia, Friederich, Triss… Where are they? Are they safe?

  As the water running at his feet turned clear, so did his resolve. No matter. I’ll gather information tomorrow.

  A soft knock interrupted him.

  "Ahem! Zeta, I’ll leave some clothes by the door, okay?" May’s voice called out.

  "Ah, thank you, May," he replied, turning off the tap with a long breath.

  The shower had refreshed him, but a deep ache lingered in his bones, a clear sign of mana exhaustion. He looked at his trembling hands and closed his eyes, focusing on the image of fire.

  "Empyrion," he whispered.

  Instead of flames, a puff of hot steam escaped his palm.

  He sighed. "Completely out. Teleportation isn’t an option." He scowled at his reflection. "Not that it’s a reliable one anyway. What went wrong? I swear I followed the instructions."

  He tilted his chin, studying the face in the mirror. A striking young man stared back. His eyes burned with red energy, and his straight, silver hair was framed by a neat fringe.

  "This is my face… but younger. It feels wrong," he said, the new reality slowly settling in.

  His gaze shifted to his chest and abdomen. Lean, tight muscles. He twisted his torso. No joint pain. His best flexibility had returned.

  "Whoa…" A grin spread across his face. "Feels awesome to be young again."

  Then his eyes dropped, and the grin vanished.

  I swear this isn’t my size… Is it? It must be an inch or two more. What is going on?

  Shaking the thought away, he grabbed the clothes May had left: a loose linen tunic and brown pants. The rough fabric felt strange against his smooth skin, but he didn’t mind.

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  When he stepped out, May was already fast asleep on her futon.

  "She’s not much of a morning person," Cintia said from the table, gesturing for him to join her.

  "I see. Thank you again for the clothes," Zetius said, bowing as he sat.

  Cintia waved it off. "Here, have some bread. It’s not much—"

  Zetius held up a hand. "Please, don’t worry about me. I’m not hungry…"

  His stomach betrayed him with a loud growl.

  "You young ones need it more than I do," Cintia replied, her voice soft but firm.

  He accepted the cornbread. "Thank you, Cintia." He broke it in half and held a piece out to her. "Then please, share it with me."

  Cintia blinked, then let out a soft laugh. "I knew you’d be too kind. I’m good at reading people."

  Zetius returned a smile, and they ate in comfortable silence.

  When they finished, Cintia cleared the table. "Do you want to rest? You can take the futon."

  "That would be great. My body still aches from the fall," he replied, stretching carefully.

  "Then make yourself at home. I need to open the shop for my master. Just stay low for now, alright?"

  Zetius nodded, and Cintia slipped through a door on the right.

  He leaned back against the wall, his weight sinking into the futon.

  Across the dim room, May’s small face was a pale hint of innocence in the gloom, barely visible beneath an old blanket. Then, a glint of metal from the slave circlet around her neck caught the faint light.

  The sight was a jolt, a stark reminder of another Wildren girl, Frain. He remembered the fire in his heart as he’d convinced Lupus to free her — a battle he had won. A familiar hatred rekindled in his chest, its burn sharp and shockingly familiar. He had almost let himself forget the vile system.

  What would this world become without it?

  The question hung in the silence of his mind, a fleeting, impossible thought. But the fight was lost before it could begin. Exhaustion claimed him, pulling him down into the deep, quiet dark of a dreamless sleep.

  A few days later, Zetius had explored Lilybend, gathering whispers of a full-scale war in Namvie while his mana slowly restored itself. He learned the apothecary was owned by a cruel and greedy man named Master Tien, who fortunately paid no attention to the back rooms, allowing Zetius a temporary hideout.

  That afternoon, Zetius draped a strip of linen over his head to block the sun and covered his face, melting into the buzzing streets.

  "I have to find them… but how?" he muttered. He had no money, no connections, no clear path forward. He found a shaded spot beneath a tree, watching the crowd.

  I can’t keep relying on Cintia. What would Jack have done? He wondered, rubbing his chin. Get a job? Earn some credit and buy a ticket to Poranthis?

  That’s when he spotted them: two towering figures in dark green armour, cutting through the crowd.

  "Armatus knights," he whispered. What are they doing here? This is Osten Empire territory. He narrowed his eyes. Wait… the Dunkelheit camp is to the north. Lilybend must be close to it.

  Curiosity won. With no better plan, Zetius followed.

  A dark-elven man in a royal blue uniform and a human woman in matching arcanist robes accompanied the knights.

  Their fifteen-minute walk took them down a long flight of stairs and along a concrete path that skirted the edge of the marketplace.

  Finally, they stopped before a large estate, its perimeter secured by a three-metre-high metal fence. A lily emblem decorated the imposing double gates.

  The magistrate’s estate, Zetius thought, adjusting the cloth on his head.

  The group stood by the gate, deep in discussion, but he was too far to hear.

  Just then, a hand clamped down on his shoulder and spun him around.

  Zetius’s eyes widened.

  Staring back at him, just as shocked, was a familiar face.

  "Zetius?!"

  "Friederich?!"