The sun hadn't cracked yet.
But the town moved anyway.
Not loud. Not fast. Just early. Boots scuffed dirt.
Gates dragged open.
Market tarps snapped like yawns.
Somewhere, steel met stone. Somewhere else, prayer. Raze moved quieter than all of it. No cloak.
No sword. No reason.
Just motion.
A wave of noise rolled over him. Not deafening.
But alive.
Hair loose, brushing his jaw. Hood down. No veil.
No mask. His boots avoided mud from last night's rain without needing thought.
The stone beneath held some heat from the lanterns, but the wind still bit.
Didn't matter.
People passed. A few glanced at the collarbone.
The mark.
Drakos.
Not theirs. Not a threat. Not their business.
Still, they looked away fast.
He wasn't here for them.
The butcher shouted cuts like gospel.
The blacksmith struck metal like it owed him something. A kid chased a mutt between stalls, laughter catching on the dog's breath.
Need.
He kept thinking about it.
Not gold. Not hunger. The other kind.
The kind you saw in spines. In eyes that darted too quick. In people who only breathed halfway down.
He wasn't immune. But he hadn't named his yet.
A man with trembling hands counted coin twice.
A girl passed out flyers like they were lifelines. An old vendor smiled too practiced over bruised fruit.
Raze passed them. Still quiet.
Still unsure if he came to be seen, or forgotten.
The tavern spilled a laugh. He kept walking.
The chapel bell rang. He didn't look up.
Someone clipped his shoulder. Fast. Careless.
He stopped.
Didn't turn. Just breathed.
Then came the voice— Too bright for the hour.
"HEY! Watch it!"
Not his voice. Not anyone's voice from here. Didn't learn how to shrink.
He didn't turn, but he knew the tone. Knew what followed.
"Oh shit it's a Drakos!"
That was as close to Please don't kill me as you could get.
He turned.
That's when it whistled.
Arrow—clean. Quick.
He caught it.
Two fingers.
The shaft stopped cold. Snapped into stillness.
The wood creaked.
Silence followed.
Ahead—open space. Trees shifting. A fountain murmuring beneath a cracked godstone.
Then: green blur. Fast. Wild.
"OHMYGODS I'M SO SORRY—!"
Foot tangled. Root hit. Bow banged against her back. Arms everywhere.
A goblin girl. Short. Loud. Unstable.
One eye visible, wide. The other lost in mossy hair and panic.
She stumbled forward like the apology could catch her. "I didn't mean—I was aiming for the dummy! I didn't even see you—I swear—you're not even dummy-shaped, you're just—you're like, tall and scary and your face is really sharp in a cool way and—"
Raze let the silence speak first.
She winced. Hands wrung like she could strangle the guilt out of them. "You alright?" he asked.
"I almost killed you!"
"You missed."
She blinked. "That's not the point!"
He studied the arrow. Handmade. Uneven fletching. Twine slightly burnt. Or chewed.
"You shoot a lot?"
"Started today!" she blurted. "You ever just wake up and go, 'I'm gonna be an archer!' and then a dwarf sells you a bow that smells like whiskey and regret?"
He raised a brow. "You're making an impression."
She groaned. "I'm Syka. Like sick-ah not sigh-ka. Not sick like bad-sick, more like…uh…I'll stop talking now."
He handed the arrow back. Her fingers shook.
"You could be good," he said.
She stared.
"You have instinct. Trust it. Refine it. And practice outside the city next time. Some people don't catch arrows."
Her ears twitched. Not at the words. At the tone.
She hugged the arrow like it meant something now.
"I wasn't expecting you to be…kind."
He tilted his head. "I'm not. I just recognize effort."
"What if I mess up again?"
"Then you try again."
"But what if the fire goes out?"
"Then light it again. No one's counting."
She breathed in. Sharp. Small.
"Would you ever show me?" she asked. "How to shoot?"
His eyes narrowed. Not rejecting. Just thinking.
"You want me to train you?"
"Not train-train. Just—observe maybe? A lesson. If you have time. Or don't. Or—"
He looked past her. Then at the park. Then back.
"If you're serious."
"I am."
He stepped forward. Just enough to quiet her fidgeting.
"Then next time you aim at something," he said, "make sure you mean it."
She froze. Tail flicked once.
Then nodded. Not fast. Not shy. Just sure.
"I will."
He nodded once.
"That's all it takes."
…
"BYE MISTER RAZE!"
…
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
[ memory sealed]
[ fixing state of mind. . . ]
>>>
[ failed. ]
[ memory sealing has failed. ]
[ FATE is still severed. ]
[ memory has been returned. ]
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
The shop didn't creak. It sighed.
Raze stepped inside.
Letting the door shut behind him.
"Took you long enough," Aun'va said from behind the counter. Her hands didn't move, but her head tilted slightly. "Didn't need to look. You breathe heavier when you're trying not to think."
She was blind. But nothing escaped her.
"Castle nurse said you had a pack put away for her," he said. "Said she paid already."
Aun'va scoffed, groping beneath a shelf until her fingers found a wrapped bundle.
"She did. Barely. I let her think she paid full price." She placed the bag on the counter. "Take it."
He reached for it.
"Wait, son."
His hand paused.
"It's rude not to speak."
"I just did."
"You delivered a message."
A beat.
"Conversation is something else."
He looked at her. Blank. Waiting.
"What do you want, Aun'va?"
"To learn something about you."
"Why?"
"Because you carry too much." Her voice stayed even. "And talking lightens something. Even if it's not the load that needs it."
He didn't answer.
So she tried another route.
"What's your favorite number?"
He blinked.
"What?"
"Number. Pick one."
He thought. Longer than expected.
"Eleven," he said.
"Why eleven?"
Another pause. Shorter.
"I don't know."
She smiled without aiming it.
"Then maybe you haven't lived it yet."