The Capital, Evandria.

ALDRIC PARKER

Aldric stood in the dimly lit corridor, his presence quiet, composed. Across from him, Henry sat stiffly in his chair, his wife's frail hand resting within his own as he murmured prayers for her recovery or for himself, Aldric couldn't answer. The candlelight flickered over his tired face, casting shadows that made him appear older than he was.

"Did you find them?" Henry asked, his voice measured, but his knuckles whitened as they tightened around his wife's hand. He did not look at Aldric, not fully—his gaze never left her pale, bruised face.

"I have...some clues," Aldric replied, careful to sound uncertain. He needed Henry to believe that the path forward was his to choose, that the decision—though inevitable—was his own.

Henry exhaled sharply. "You were attacked by an unauthorized beast in the middle of the central capital. An unauthorized beast... in the heart of the Capital. Don't tell me it's— "

"It wasn't," Aldric interrupted smoothly. "It was men. It was no beast but men who attacked Lady Gillberg."

Henry's head snapped up, eyes finally meeting Aldric's. Disbelief creased his brow, his lips parting slightly before he caught himself. He looked down at his wife.

Nobles? No.

"Workers," Aldric clarified. "Most likely from the leather factories. They move in packs—afternoon, dusk, and night. Three o'clock, five o'clock, eight o'clock, after their factory shifts."

Now Henry turned. His eyes, weary and rimmed red, locked onto Aldric's. There was something there—disbelief, yes, but also something worse. Guilt.

Of course, he would blame himself. He and his wife had signed the parchment, allowing lowborn workers into the capital. They had pushed for it, against the protests of their peers. The weight of it would be suffocating now.

He pulled a parchment from the inside of his coat, its edges worn from frequent handling, and stepped forward, offering it to Henry. The lord hesitated for only a second before taking it, his fingers trembling as he unfolded the list of names.

"Legally," Aldric continued, watching Henry's reaction closely, "you cannot interrogate them without a warrant signed by the Church. And to get that, you would have to—"

"I know the process," Henry snapped, cutting him off. His jaw tightened, and his grip on the parchment crumpled the paper slightly.

Aldric said nothing, only observing. He could see the fury boiling in Henry's veins, the helpless rage of a man who blamed himself but would rather place it on another. He would not go through the proper channels. He would not wait for due process. That was exactly what Aldric needed.

"Henry, I can—" Aldric began, his voice laced with a carefully placed note of sympathy. A fake one.

"You've done enough already," Henry interrupted again, but softer this time. He laid his wife's hand back on the bed, smoothing the sheets over her frail fingers before rising.

Aldric met his gaze, and in that moment, the decision was made.

Henry gestured for him to walk, and together they stepped into the corridor. The door behind them closed softly, the rustling of maids tending to the wounded woman fading as they strode through the grand halls. Their boots echoed against the emerald marble, the only sound between them.

"You're going to capture them illegally," Aldric stated, his voice calm.

Henry said nothing, but Aldric saw the way his face tightened, his breath heavy with contained fury.

"I…" Henry finally spoke, exhaling deeply. "You have to understand, Aldric. It is my fault. She is suffering because of me. I shouldn't have—" His voice caught, his control slipping. "I never should have signed that parchment. I never should have let them in."

There it was. Good.

"Lady Gillberg never left the house in the afternoon," Aldric mused, as if thinking aloud. "So it must have been the night workers. The ones from dusk—too exhausted to do anything reckless. The ones in the afternoon—too visible and too tired again. But the ones at night? Their shifts give them easy movement in the evening." Aldric gave him the fruit. Now Henry simply needed to bite it.

Henry's fists clenched.

Aldric allowed a moment of silence before he spoke again, his voice laced with hesitation.

"I'm behind you."

His tone was uncertain.

His intent was not.

He was not behind him.

____________________________

Aldric sank into Adeline's sofa, melting into its worn cushions. The scent of her incense candles clung to the air—something herbal, something grounding. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the quiet settle over him. His neck ached, stiff from the cold, and he rolled his head, groaning as the vertebrae cracked back into place. Ad was away, was it peace or quiet, Aldric couldn't differentiate what he wanted but it was there now.

A familiar tapping rattled the glass window.

Aldric didn't move at first, only exhaled through his nose. The sound came again, insistent.

He opened his eyes, sighing, and pushed himself upright. The crow was there, perched on the windowsill, black feathers ruffling against the cold. Greg.

Aldric unlatched the window, letting it swing open, and the bird hopped inside with a sharp shake of its wings.

"Damn bloody chilly outside," Greg squawked, snapping its beak in irritation. "When will winter be over?"

Aldric shut the window behind it. "Are you mad? Summer in the Capital? It's hell. At least the winter keeps it stable."

Greg snapped its beak, unimpressed. "I am a crow. I fly."

Aldric shook his head, rubbing his temples. "Have you found out why the curse broke?" He cut to the point, his patience too thin for pleasantries.

Greg gave an exaggerated shake of its head, feathers puffing up. "No. And neither have you, I take it."

Aldric ignored the jab. "It only makes sense that the patriarch is aware of knights existing in this world. And now, he's making us aware that he exists too."

Greg tilted its head, the movement too human for comfort. "Aren't you being a little too paranoid?"

Aldric looked at it, expression flat.

Greg flapped its wings in annoyance. "Don't look at me like that!" It snapped its beak again, indignant. "Think of it: the high priest who incited war in the old world just happens to survive, just happens to land in this world, and just happens to make sure the knights know he's alive?" Greg scoffed. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?"

Yes. That is exactly the problem.

Greg, for all its wisdom, still sought reason where there was none. That was the difference between gods and mortals—Greg read the stories, but it had never lived them. It saw the tragedy, the loss, the cruelty, and moved on, because for it, it was ink on a page. It would never understand what it felt like, standing in the ashes of a world that had burned.

Aldric didn't argue. Instead, he lied.

"Yes," he said, voice dry, expression unreadable.

Greg snapped its again, a small, impatient sound.

"But," Aldric continued, "since we are exiting this world, we need to find people who can help us. People who still possess the strength of the old world's techniques."

Two plans. One, he had already done it in the old world—repeating it here would be simple enough.

The second was trickier.

In this world, every soul was merely a fragment of what it had once been, broken and scattered. But if trauma—severe trauma—could force those fragments to recall their past lives, to awaken what had been lost… then perhaps those memories, those powers, could be drawn out, including their memories, personality, maybe even the character itself.

It was a dangerous theory.

It was an impossible theory.

But he would test it all the same.

And he would do it in secret.

Even from Greg.

"Aldric."

The crow's voice was unusually soft, a rare thing. It made something cold settle in Aldric's stomach.

"I treasure your company," Greg said. Its tone was measured, deliberate. "If I were a mortal man, I would call you my friend, and I would treasure your loyalty—I mean, your friendship—forever. It does not mean I do not cherish it now." It shifted, feathers ruffling, voice dipping lower. "That is why… please. If you have any strange thoughts, talk to me. Or talk to Adeline."

Once, Aldric might have.

Once, when he had still been the knight he was forced to be, when he still believed in words like brotherhood and faith, he might have let himself believe that companionship was something worth holding onto.

But now?

Now, he simply didn't care.

He was over three thousand years old.

To an immortal god, that was nothing. But to him?

It was an eternity spent in this world—this fake world, filled with fractured pieces of the people he once knew. People who were almost familiar, but never quite the same.

He could neither befriend them, nor kill them.

And he was tired.

"If I have problems, I sure will, Greg. I sure will."

Another lie.

Greg, of course, didn't catch it. The bird only snapped its beak, shifting its weight from one clawed foot to the other.

"When will Ad return?" Greg asked, changing the subject.

"I don't know. A week, at least. She went north, and God knows how many villages are gone. We only received half the letters, after all."

Aldric leaned his head back against the sofa, closing his eyes.

There had been a sudden spike in beast attacks from the north—too many, too coordinated. The hunters called it a coincidence. Aldric had chosen to ignore it, for now. If it became a larger problem, he would deal with it then.

But Adeline?

She refused to ignore it.

And so she left, taking with her a handful of people who believed the same—that there was more to this than bad luck and the shifting of seasons.

Aldric did not worry for her.

Why would he?

She was stronger than him. Stronger, smarter, and far more in control of herself. If anything, it was the beasts that should be afraid.

"Well, that is a good thing for me!" Greg suddenly squawked, the sharpness of it cutting through Aldric's thoughts.

Aldric cracked an eye open, brow raising. "How?"

Greg fluffed its feathers, wings spreading wide, as if in celebration. "I get to talk and sleep in a house like a normal person!"

"…"

Aldric sat up.

Greg stiffened. "Wait, wait, wait, Aldric. We can talk about this, Aldric, wait—!"

Aldric grabbed the crow in one swift motion and hurled it out the window.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck youuuuuuuuuuuu!" Greg screeched, its voice fading as it tumbled through the air.

Aldric shut the window.

The quiet settled again.

He sank back into the sofa, pressing his palms into his eyes.

He needed time.

Not just to think about the plan. Not just to think about what needed to be done.

But about her.

What he would say to Adeline when the time came to confess all of this.

She would never accept it.

He knew that.

But he had to do it anyway.