The moment the white mist swerved around Anzu, he knew what was happening. The [Illude] spell was waning. He had completely forgotten about the two-hour countdown before the spell expired. If only he hadn't been so preoccupied with his own, or rather Anni's social inadequacies, he would have re-cast it before Itani had arrived.

  The grey of his robes' fabric rippled as colors began bleeding through. Cerulean blue erupted across his chest, followed by emerald green sleeves, replacing the dull grey fabric of his disguise with textile crafted from the most exquisite silk, lush to the touch. On his chest, a yellow moon surrounded by two stars materialized as if painted by invisible hands, glowing faintly in the dim light. This was the legendary [Robe of Mululil], an item he'd spent ages grinding for in-game.

  His dull, weathered staff elongated and morphed into exquisitely shaped white oak, as ornate carvings spread across it, filled with gleaming metal. It was the perfect staff for a Necromancer, called the [Staff of a Hundred Deaths].

  Finally, the plain old dagger attached to his belt shimmered. Gold replaced bronze, and two large rubies emerged on the handle, making up the [Heart-pricker], Anzu's usual choice for initiating a Blood Magic spell.

  Even his face changed. Smooth, clean-shaven skin was suddenly covered by a dark-red mustache that spread into a bushy beard, framing his jaw.

  It was all visible now, and all of it was unmistakable, especially the moon and stars that glowed across his chest, for which the Hero of Larsa was so well known for.

  Itani's jaw slackened. Then, in one fluid motion, she dropped to one knee, bowing her head.

  "My lord, I... I'm so sorry. I had no idea..."

  Anzu exhaled.

  "Itani, what are you doing? Get up."

  He understood why she was doing this. The gear alone screamed legendary status, and a completely unique one at that. But that didn't make it any less irritating. Still, with her, he took care not to assume a harsh tone. They'd become familiar enough so that Anzu couldn't treat her like he did the alchemist.

  She didn't rise.

  "But... you're the Nameless Hero of Larsa. You have to be. You said yourself that you were from Larsa."

  He glanced down at his robes and at the staff that had marked him as something far beyond a wandering Sage. The disguise had kept him safe for a few hours. But now? There was no point in fooling her any longer. They were fugitives together now, and besides, she wasn't stupid. She'd figured it out the moment the spell lost its effect.

  Anzu crouched, lowering himself to her level.

  "Yes, you're right. I am the Hero of Larsa."

  He reached out, taking her right hand into his.

  "But you need to know that I don't care about any of this your lordship business."

  He made sure to say it softly, then pulled her hand upward, guiding her to her feet. She rose hesitantly, eyes still wide.

  Rain dripped from the edge of her hood as she stared at him.

  "But... you do realize I had a toy Hero of Larsa when I was little, right?"

  An air of clarity descended on Anzu. So, history hadn't been forgotten at all. If anything, it had been idealized. He'd been right to disguise himself.

  But there was something else biting at him. It was annoyance.

  There seemed to have been toys. Of course, there were. Why not? Legendary heroes got statues, songs, and apparently action figures for children to play with. But he pushed the irritation down, forcing the corners of his mouth upward.

  "Hah, I had no idea they were making toys of me."

  Itani blinked, then a faint smile broke through her shock.

  "You didn't know? They sold everywhere in Sumeria."

  Anzu shook his head, releasing her hand.

  "Well, that's... disturbing."

  "It came with a tiny golden sickle," she added, almost sheepishly.

  He groaned.

  "Of course it did."

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  "Well, it's time for a change of disguise anyway, since the Mardukists are looking for a grey-robed Sage now," Anzu said, already lifting his staff. "Maybe this time I should go with a dark green color. Something worn."

  He snapped his fingers and cast [Illude] again.

  A faint white light surrounded his chest, washing over the cerulean and emerald silk. The [Robe of Mululil] dulled, as the vibrant blues and greens bled into a muted and muddy green. His staff shrank back into a weathered, unremarkable length of wood, while the Heart-pricker became a simple bronze dagger once more. The beard and mustache vanished last, dissolving like smoke.

  As Itani watched the transformation, her expression eased slightly.

  "Good idea hiding the facial hair. You're much less recognizable without it."

  "I'm glad you think so."

  Anzu lowered his staff and glanced around the empty street. Rain still fell in a steady drizzle, muffling the distant clatter of patrols and voices.

  "Maybe we should get going to that tavern," he said. 'We can talk about everything once we're inside.'

  Itani nodded, indicating a return of her composure.

  "It's really close. On the adjacent street, actually."

  She led the way, moving through the narrow alley with practiced ease, but her shoulders still shook a little here and there. Anzu followed, keeping his steps quiet and trying to stay focused. The encounter with the priests, the weird magic scroll, the escape, the revelation of his identity; it had all come much too fast. He needed somewhere safe to breathe and think.

  They turned a corner, and Itani slowed down. The building looked ordinary. Clay-brick construction, the same as every other Mesopotamian structure in Lagash. Above the door, a faint torch mark glowed but just barely. Anzu squinted at it, recognizing the subtle luminescence. Ocean plankton extract, probably. Or it could be some alchemical compound designed to make the sign visible at night while remaining inconspicuous to keep away prying eyes. A smart trick.

  Itani approached the door and knocked three times, paused, and then knocked twice more.

  As a small chute snapped open, a grizzled dwarven face appeared, one eye hidden beneath a leather eyepatch. The visible eye scanned them both with zero warmth.

  "What'chu want?"

  Itani didn't hesitate.

  "Broken skulls don't whisper at night."

  The dwarf said nothing. His eye flicked from Itani to Anzu, stopping on the staff, the robe, the dagger. Anzu kept his expression neutral, letting the disguise do its work.

  Finally, the dwarf grunted.

  "Alright. You can go in."

  The door swung open. They stepped inside and descended a narrow staircase leading into a basement. The air grew warmer, tinged with the smell of stale ale and old smoke, quite typical of the taverns there. Anzu glanced at Itani as they descended.

  "What did you have to do to get that password, huh?"

  "I know a guy," Itani replied with a low voice. "A fellow Ranger needed help with a quest a while ago. He's more a businessman than a Ranger, basically, if you get what I mean. As a counter-favor, he gave me the password for this tavern."

  "Ah, very interesting. A bit of a shady character, then."

  Itani glanced back over her shoulder with an apologetic expression.

  "Uhm, yeah. You should know that this tavern has a certain reputation. It's not the nicest of places."

  Anzu nodded.

  "After the day we've had, I'll take not nice over anything that's trying to kill us."

  The basement opened into a dim, low-ceilinged room that was lit by scattered candles. Weapons such as swords, axes, and daggers lined the walls, all locked behind glass like trophies or warnings. Between them hung mugs, cups, and pitchers of different shapes, some ceramic, others bronze or copper. The tables were plain wood, simple but functional, and each bore a single candle that turned the atmosphere into something almost cozy.

  Anzu scanned the room. None of the patrons looked up.

  A Sumerian woman in battered leather armor sat alone, staring into her cup. Two dwarves muttered over a worn map. A pale man, perhaps kin to Anzu, sat hunched in the far corner with his hood drawn low. Dark elves clustered at another table, talking with low and guarded voices.

  Everyone looked like they'd crawled through mud to get here. They had scuffed gear, frayed cloaks, and bruised faces. It was the kind of place where questions didn't get asked. And that was what they needed right now.

  Anzu exhaled slowly, as tension eased from his shoulders.

  "How about this table here?" he said, nodding toward one near the center.

  Itani shook her head.

  "The one in the corner. More privacy."

  She led him to a small table wedged against the back wall and then slid into the chair facing the room. Anzu took the seat opposite with his back to the wall.

  "Not that it matters so much in a place like this," Itani added. "People come here to be left alone. Talk and drink in peace. There's very little chance of anyone eavesdropping."

  Anzu glanced around again, and it seemed true enough. No one so much as glanced their way.

  A bartender appeared. A middle-aged Sumerian with broad shoulders, missing a tooth.

  "What'll it be, folks?"

  "A pint of ale, please."

  The bartender grunted in acknowledgement.

  "We've got Lagashian Ale and Uruk Date Ale. Whichever meets your fancy."

  "Lagashian for me. The date one is too sweet."

  Itani nodded.

  "Same. But also a shot of strong mead."

  Anzu perked up.

  "Make that two."

  The bartender left without a word. Itani leaned back in her chair, exhaling hard.

  "This has been one hell of a day. I need a stiff drink. The beer's for thirst, basically."

  "Agreed. I'll gladly have one myself."

  Anzu pulled out his pipe, setting it on the table. His muscle memory took over: he drew the [Heart-pricker], still disguised as a plain bronze dagger, and began scraping ash from the bowl.

  Itani watched, lifting her eyebrows.

  "Oh, you're a pipe smoker then? Ha, I never knew that."

  A tiny pang of irritation flared in Anzu's chest again. Another detail to get cataloged and sold. Another piece of his private life commodified for children's toys and tavern gossip. He ignored the emotion, as he was quite sure Itani didn't mean it quite like that. It's only natural she'd ask him questions over a drink.

  "Oh, yeah. Quite an avid one, too. Except I'm all out of puffing leaf right now."

  "Ask the bartender. They usually have some."

  "Good idea."

  He set the pipe down, wiping the blade on his sleeve. The candle flickered between them, casting Itani's face in shifting shadow. She looked tired now. The rain had darkened her hair, and her armor still dripped faintly onto the floor.

  She took a deep breath and met Anzu's eyes.

  "There is something I need to ask you."

  Her tone wasn't casual. It wasn't the easy banter they'd engaged in during their escape. This was heavier and more careful.

  He slid the dagger back into its sheath, folding his hands on the table.

  "Go ahead."