The moon hung low in the sky, lazily clinging to the last vestiges of night.
Izuma stood still at a crooked corner of intersecting alleys, a faint breeze tugging at the makeshift cloth tied across his face. He clutched the worn map Rinji had given him, squinting at the poorly-drawn lines and red-ink markings with a flat stare.
"Alright... four lefts from the bakery,"
He mumbled, glancing up at a cracked sign hanging above a boarded-up shop.
"Then a sharp right past the dead Gabbit stand… whatever the hell a Gabbit is."
He sighed, folding the map haphazardly and stuffing it into his coat. The wind caught the edge of his sleeve, lifting it just enough to remind him of the dried blood crusted beneath.
Even now, hours later, he still remembered the sharp pain. The feeling of his eye popping. The blades digging through skin like tissue. The gurgling sound in his throat.
He shook it off.
Keep moving.
The deeper he went into the city, the livelier it became. Torches flickered behind iron gates. Sleepy shopkeepers hauled open wooden shutters. Smells of fresh bread and woodsmoke mingled in the damp air. Children chased each other down side roads. Somewhere, a bell rang out faintly.
He hadn't realized how long he'd been walking until a soft glow began to break through the distant rooftops.
Dawn.
He blinked.
it really took me all night huh?
His boots scuffed to a halt as he stood in front of the safehouse.
It looked just like before—familiar and nondescript, with its rust-silver doorframe and crooked windowsill filled with dead flowers. But this time, The sight brang forth both comfort and safety.
"Home..."
He muttered.
He took a breath. Then pushed the door open.
The interior was brighter than expected—lamplight and firelight dancing across the stone floor. Warm. Smelling of stew and something sweet. The sudden shift in brightness made his eyes narrow—and before he could adjust—
"IZUMAAAAAA!"
Something hit him like a cannonball.
He staggered back. Arms wrapped tight around his torso. Wet sniffles invaded the muffled quiet. His back slammed into the doorframe.
Am I dying again?
"Wha—?"
Adia. Clinging to him like a starving toddler on a stuffed animal.
"You IDIOT," She sobbed.
"Do you know what time it is?! I thought—I thought they—YOU—!"
She hiccupped mid-yell and squeezed him tighter.
"I was gonna storm the palace! I was gonna scream! You didn't even send a message by bird! OR—OR THROW A ROCK AT ME FROM A ROOFTOP—"
How am I supposed to—nevermind.
"I… I'll remember the rock tactic next time," Izuma muttered, gently patting her head. "Assuming I live long enough to throw it."
Lira leaned over the edge of the table, raising an eyebrow.
"Dramatic much? You knew he was with Rinji. They don't kill Gold Crest companions… usually."
Izuma's gears began to turn,
The same thing the council mentioned, I might have to ask rinji later.
"I DON'T CARE," Adia shrieked, refusing to let go.
I've never seen her like this before...it's both kinda funny and hard to watch.
Izuma stood there stiffly, face half-hidden in his makeshift mask, arms hovering awkwardly in the air.
"Is… she gonna let go, or is this permanent?"
"No idea," Lira replied.
"But she'll get tired eventually. Like a slime after it's eaten a mana orb."
A nearby villager let out a hearty chuckle. The room was fuller than he remembered—almost two dozen people sitting around mismatched tables, nursing bowls of soup and mugs of something steaming. Several of them turned toward him now, expressions changing.
"You're back!"
"Izuma, right?"
"You saved us, man."
"No one's made it back from the Council before. Ever."
"I thought you were dead!"
"We owe you more than a bowl of stew, that's for sure."
One old woman even raised her cup.
"To the masked hero—well, half-masked now, but you get the point."
Izuma blinked. He forced a crooked smile. "Guess I'm... a trendsetter."
Adia finally peeled off of him, wiping her eyes aggressively.
"I am so mad at you," she sniffled.
"But also relieved. But mostly mad."
He ruffled her hair with one hand.
"Nice to know I'm missed."
Rinji, leaning against the far wall with arms folded, nodded toward him.
"So. You're not dead. That's good."
Izuma's body froze.
For just a second, that sentence echoed.
So. You're not dead.
His vision filled with blood. Screams. Pain. Steel. His own hand twitching on cold stone.
He shook it off.
"Y-Yeah," He said, smiling too wide.
So the council usually kills the people they invite...
Under his breath he muttered.
"Then that means I nearly died twice today...."
Rinji stared.
Lira looked between them, frowning.
"You okay, mask boy?"
Izuma forced a laugh.
"What, Oh me?, zoned out for a second. That's all. Y'know, first Council visit, adrenaline, emotionally attached girl body-slamming me into the door... I think I'm doing pretty good, all things considered."
That got a few chuckles from the villagers.
Even Rinji cracked a smile. "Fair enough."
But Lira didn't stop watching him.
He was smiling.
But his eyes were too still.
The shadows under them too deep.
The way he stood—like he was waiting for something to happen to him.
She tilted her head, saying nothing.
"Let's eat," someone shouted.
"Give the kid a seat!"
Adia dragged him over to a bench by the fire.
Stew was poured. Bread broken. Laughter filled the room.
People toasted him. A young beastling girl even handed him a flower and giggled.
"You look scary but you're nice."
Must be my makeshift mask huh...
Izuma managed a chuckle.
"Thanks. I'll try to be scary-nice more often."
"Please don't," Adia mumbled, still sniffling.
He dipped his spoon into the soup and stared at it.
Warm.
Comforting.
He took a bite and tasted almost nothing.
But he smiled anyway.
"You're sure you're okay?"
Adia whispered, leaning in.
"Positive," he replied.
Lie.
Rinji leaned back in his seat, eyes narrowed. He didn't believe it.
Lira didn't either.
But neither said a word.
The celebration continued. Plates clattered. People told stories. A pair of teens juggled knives in the back corner, earning gasps and applause. Adia laughed. Lira joked.
And Izuma laughed too.
But somewhere deep in that laugh, even Rinji heard the hollowness.
That night, as the sun finished rising and light spilled through the crooked shutters, the people of the safehouse celebrated a survivor.
A savior.
A returning hero.
And none of them—not even Adia—noticed the weight behind his gaze.
But Rinji did.
And so did Lira.
Something had changed.
Izuma wasn't just a survivor anymore.
He was something else now.
And neither of them knew if that was a good thing.
Or a bad thing.