I woke up.
This time, in bed.
Wooden walls. Clean linens. A small room – quiet, warm. Not the manor.
I sat up slowly, eyes scanning every corner. No chains. No scent of blood.
The last thing I remembered was collapsing in the back of the wagon.
The merchants found me.
First instinct – check pnevma.
I closed my eyes. Reached inward.
Stable. But empty.
No violent surges. No leaking flow. My core held. Still raw – but contained.
The bruises were gone.
Someone had healed me.
"You're awake."
I turned sharply.
An old man stood in the doorway.
I froze.
That face –
No. Impossible.
But it looked like him. Too much like him.
My grandfather. From before. From the world I'd lost.
My chest tightened. I said nothing.
"You've been out for two days," he said, voice gentle. "Your condition was worse than expected."
I stayed silent. Too many thoughts. Too many memories I didn't trust.
"Are you hungry? Should I prepare something?"
Right then, my stomach growled.
He smiled at the sound. "Alright. I'll have something brought in."
Then he turned and left.
I sat there, still.
This wasn't my world. I'd already accepted that. The air moved differently. The pnevma flowed in strange patterns – unfamiliar currents beneath familiar shapes.
But seeing his face…
It made me doubt.
Was this a parallel world? A fractured mirror of the one I left behind?
I remembered that face clearly.
After the Daybreak Catastrophe – when monsters emerged and cities fell – my parents were killed. The only one who stayed, who carried me through, was my grandfather. He raised me until the illness took him. Just before I became a hunter.
And now he was here. Or someone who looked exactly like him.
It didn't make sense.
A few minutes later, the old man returned. He carried a wooden tray with a single bowl of steaming porridge.
"Can you hold the spoon?" he asked softly.
I nodded once and reached out. My fingers trembled, but I managed. I lifted the first bite to my mouth.
Warm. Soft. Plain.
Familiar.
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes before I could stop them.
"Not your taste?" he asked, glancing at my expression. "Our cook is away. This is all I know how to make."
I shook my head.
It wasn't the taste.
It was the recipe. The same one he used to make – down to the salt, the texture, the way the warmth settled in my chest.
It wasn't just food.
It was a memory.
And that was what broke me.
I kept eating. Quiet. Slow.
Tears slid down my face unchecked as I finished the bowl. By the end, my throat was tight. My eyes burned.
"It must've been hard," he said.
I didn't respond.
He didn't press. Just sat nearby, letting the silence settle around us.
After a while, he looked at me again. "Feeling better?"
I nodded once.
"Good. What's your name?"
I paused.
I didn't know the name of this body. But if someone was hunting me, it was safer not to use it. Safer to stay nameless.
But I couldn't stay as no one forever.
"Alice."
It was the name I carried in my previous life. The only one that still felt like mine.
He nodded slowly. "Alice, I see."
He set the tray aside and stood.
"I'm Gideon. Nice to meet you."
He asked a few questions about my condition – pain, movement, breathing. I answered briefly.
He didn't ask why I had been in their wagon. Or who I was running from. I was glad.
But just before he stepped out, he paused.
"You're safe here," he said softly. "For as long as you need to be."
Then he closed the door behind him.
Two days have passed since I first woke up.
My body has fully adjusted now. Healed, more or less. The pnevma channels were stable again – sluggish, but no longer bleeding.
While I stayed in bed, I listened.
Aside from Gideon, I only sensed one other presence in the area – faint, untrained, without pnevma. But one night, I felt something else. A flicker. A brief, unfamiliar pulse that vanished before I could trace it.
Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe not.
When I finally stepped outside the room, I saw the space beyond – a small kitchen joined with a living area. Worn wooden floors, a low-burning stove, crates stacked by the door.
Someone moved.
"Woah! You're awake!"
My body reacted before I thought. I stepped back, hand lifting instinctively – ready to summon my weapon.
Nothing came.
My core was still empty. The pnevma hadn't recovered enough.
A boy – no, a teenager – came into view, nearly dropping a box in his hands. Brown wavy hair, wide eyes too bright for the hour.
"I didn't mean to scare you!" he said quickly, setting the crate down. "You've been in that room for four days. Gideon said not to bother you, but I thought I'd –"
I said nothing. Just watched.
So this was the other one I sensed.
He scratched the back of his neck. "Do you, uh, want some water? Or tea?"
Still, I didn't answer.
Silence has always been easier. It made people uncomfortable. Made them talk too much or leave.
He didn't leave.
"I'm Milo, by the way," he offered, smiling awkwardly. "I help out with the company. Gideon's kind of like my mentor. Or, I guess, my boss? Both, maybe?"
I watched his hands. No weapons. No tension in his shoulders. Just clumsy nervousness.
"Anyway," he said, taking a small step back. "I'll stop talking now."
"...Alice"
The word felt dry on my tongue. But it was mine.
"Alice is my name."
"Alice, he repeated, face lighting up. "Nice! Welcome to the Ciren Company."
I narrowed my eyes. "Ciren?"
"We're merchants," he said. "We travel and trade goods all over the kingdom."
His answer came too fast.
He held out a wooden cup. "Water. It's clean. Not poisoned, promise."
I stared at it for a longer second than necessary, then took it.
"... Thanks."
Milo grinned like he'd passed the test. "You're welcome. If you're hungry, let me know. I can cook anything. Seriously – bread, stew, dumplings… sometimes edible."
I nodded, but my eyes were already scanning the room again.
Too quiet. Too neat.
Nothing about this place screamed merchants.
No open crates, no samples, no ledgers. Just clean order.
"Where's Gideon?" I asked.
"Oh – he's out. Had to meet with a few clients. Got delayed after, y'know… we found you in the wagon."
I fell silent.
Milo shifted again, rubbing the back of his neck.
"But it's fine," he said, a little too quickly. "Even with the delay, we're still on schedule to head back."
Back where?
His tone was casual, but his eyes kept flicking toward me. Studying.
"You don't talk too much," he said as he reached for the cup in my hand.
I let go without answering.
Too open. Too honest.
People like that didn't last long where I came from.
"Gideon said people like you always have reasons." He paused. "But… I'm glad you're okay. You were bleeding when we found you."
I glanced at him. His expression wasn't pity. Just relief.
I turned to the window. We were on the second floor.
For the first time, I saw the world beyond stone walls.
The town was alive.
Narrow cobblestone streets twisted between cluttered buildings. Tile roofs, open stalls, crooked signs. Merchants shouted over each other. Children ran barefoot past creaking carts. The air smelled dirt, iron and something sweet baking somewhere nearby.
It was nothing like the world I came from.
No skyscrapers. No traffic. No static buzz of neon. And yet, it moved with the same rhythm. People rushing. Living. Unaware the girl who nearly died two days ago was watching above.
Then I saw them.
Guards.
Moving through the crowd.
My body reacted first.
I stepped back from the window and ducked behind the wall, breath catching my throat.
Milo looked up from the stove. "Are you okay –?"
"I have to go," I said. I was already moving toward the door.
He rushed after me and spread his arms, blocking the exit.
"Wait! Don't. Gideon told me not to let you leave."
"If they find me here, you'll be implicated," I said. "You don't understand who they're looking for."
"I don't care." Milo didn't flinch. "Gideon said to wait for him. So you wait."
I stared at him.
He didn't move.
I stepped back and sat down, forcing my pulse to slow. The pnevma inside me was starting to rise again. I closed my eyes. Focused. Pulled it inward. I couldn't afford a surge. Not here.
"Also," Milo added, more carefully this time, "Gideon told me to tell you this – you're safe here. No one can find you. Not unless you walk out that door."
I opened my eyes.
He stood there, arm lowered, posture at ease. No fear. Just certainty.
I didn't trust it easily. I didn't trust this. But in the moment, I believed him.
I exhaled. Let the pnevma settle.
Across from me, Milo let out a breath too, like he'd been holding it the whole time.
Still, something stayed with me.
They kept telling me I was safe – like they already knew what was after me.
That unsettled me more than anything else.