Chapter 3 – The Name I Carry

The restaurant was warmer than it had any right to be. Soft yellow lanterns hung from the wooden ceiling, their glow flickering against the weathered walls like fireflies caught in amber. A faint trail of steam drifted from the kitchen in the back, carrying with it the smell of spices and broth—earthy, sharp, and mouth-watering.

Niko hesitated in the doorway.

It wasn't full. A few scattered tables were occupied—mostly pairs. At one near the window, a couple leaned into each other, laughing, feeding one another spoonfuls from the same bowl. Something about the sight made his chest tighten, like he had once lived a life warm enough for moments like that. He almost smiled.

Then his eyes caught a sign nailed to the far wall near the counter.

A faded poster.

The symbol on it struck him more than the words: a half-star. Clean-cut. Diagonal. Below it, scrawled in thick, rough handwriting: DANGER.

His gaze lingered.

What kind of symbol is that? Why only half?

He wanted to ask, but didn't. Something in him told him not to.

"Come on," Joran said, gently nudging him forward.

They walked past rows of empty chairs—wooden, creaky things with cushions patched up more than once. Each table had two seats, almost like the place only served pairs.

The waitress met them halfway. She was young, late teens maybe, dark hair tied in a messy bun, apron tied a little too tightly around her waist. She greeted Joran with a soft smile that lingered just a second too long.

"Good to see you back, Mr. Joran," she said, handing him a wooden tablet. "Still your usual?"

"Maybe. Depends on what my friend wants," Joran replied, glancing at Niko.

Niko blinked. Friend?

The waitress turned to him. Her eyes were kind, curious, like she hadn't seen a stranger here in a long time. She handed him a second tablet menu, her fingers brushing his as she did. Then she stepped back politely.

They took a seat near the window.

Niko noticed the view outside. Faint mist curled along the cracked streets, the sky above still carrying the hue of late dusk. A birdlike shape darted past—then disappeared into fog.

"Niko, You good?" Joran asked.

"Huh?"

"You spaced out."

"Oh." Niko looked down at the tablet. The menu was carved into it—ink faded in some spots, but still readable. He could barely focus on the names. Most meant nothing to him.

He caught a faint scent drifting from the kitchen again—thick broth, simmered meat, something herbal. His stomach twisted with hunger.

I shouldn't eat anything too heavy, he thought. Something warm. Light. Something that won't shock my system.

"Soup," he said, after a moment. "Something light."

"Good choice," Joran grinned. "They've got a herb-and-bone broth that's magic. I'll get the steak."

The waitress returned, took their orders with a nod, and walked off—her eyes still stealing small glances at Joran. Niko watched her go, then leaned forward slightly.

"How'd you know my name?"

Joran took a sip of the water they'd been served. "Saw it on the tag. Back at Mr. Ledo's shop. Faded, but still readable."

Niko touched his chest lightly, remembering the thin gown.

"Right. It said Niko," he murmured. "I feel like it's mine. But I'm not sure if it's… really me."

Joran set down the cup and looked at him, eyes steady.

"Your name doesn't define you," he said. "You define the name. Doesn't matter where it came from. What matters is where you take it."

Niko let the words sit. They were comforting, in a way. Like a blanket left behind by someone kind.

"So," Joran said, resting his arms on the table. "Where were you headed before you ended up in Zaria? Something happen to your shelter?"

Niko froze.

He hadn't expected the question so soon. He took a breath.

Okay. This is it. Don't overdo it. Keep it vague. Just enough to learn something.

"I don't remember everything," he said carefully. "It's foggy. I think… I was traveling with a friend. We were ambushed. A Nullborn."

Joran's eyes narrowed slightly. His fingers stopped drumming.

There it is, Niko thought. Nullborns are real.

"I think my friend tried to fight it. Maybe even took it down. I don't really remember what happened after that. Just… waking up alone."

He looked down at the table.

"I think my friend… saved me."

Silence hung for a moment.

Joran exhaled through his nose. "Sounds like a Howler. Nasty things. Tricksters. Love messing with people's minds."

Howler, Niko repeated internally. A type of Nullborn?

"Could be," he said aloud. "Felt… wrong. Like my head was being pulled apart."

"Well," Joran leaned back. "You're lucky to be alive."

If only you knew.

Their food arrived shortly after. The waitress placed the plates down carefully, giving Joran another lingering smile before heading off. Joran barely seemed to notice.

The steak sizzled, pink at the center. Niko's soup steamed gently, little wisps curling above it. He lifted the spoon, brought it to his lips—

—and stopped.

The smell alone nearly broke him. Rich. Familiar. Like warmth in liquid form.

He took a sip.

He closed his eyes.

Heaven.

His shoulders relaxed for the first time since he woke up in that sterile room. The broth danced on his tongue, salty and soft, with just a touch of sharp root at the end.

"This is…" he murmured.

Joran raised an eyebrow.

"Delicious," Niko finished. "Like a dream."

"I told you," Joran laughed. "Eat up. If you want another, just ask."

Niko nodded, spooning more into his mouth. The warmth sank deep into his chest.

Joran leaned back slightly, chewing the last bite of his steak. His eyes flicked to Niko, casual but not careless.

"So… what's your Essentia?"

Niko stilled. The question hit harder than expected—not because he didn't have an answer, but because it meant crossing another line of trust.

His gaze drifted toward the window. Shadows stretched long outside. The world was quiet. Too quiet.

Essentia…

His mind spiraled back— to the moment in the hospital, to the dying creature—Nullborn, the system called it.

And then that strange flicker in his vision.

A glitchy overlay. Not quite real. Not quite imagined. A log etched into thought.

— SOUL'S REFLECTION — Essentia Acquired: Mercy in Panic. Type: Reflective – Instinctual Fracture. Grade: Yod (י).

The name lingered now.

He exhaled quietly through his nose. I guess… that's what it is.

"Mercy in Panic," he said softly.

Joran blinked, then gave a short nod. "That's… poetic. A bit dramatic, but you take what you get."

Joran smirked. "Wait'll you hear the names others have. Anyway—if you know its name, you must have a Guild Card, yeah?"

Niko blinked. "A what?"

Joran paused. "Guild Card. You know, the thing you get when you register at the Wanderer's Guild? They read your Essentia with the Soul Resonator. Then your stats, type, and grade get recorded."

Niko's mind flared.

Guild Card?

Soul Resonator?

So there was a system—a structure to this world. People didn't just know their powers instinctively like he had. They needed tools… organizations… protocols.

And yet—he had seen his Essentia directly. Without guilds. It had just… appeared to him. Like a whisper from his soul.

So I really am different.

He narrowed his expression slightly, but nodded with vague discomfort. Time to improvise.

"My memory's… still foggy," he said. "I think I had a Guild Card. But when I woke up after the Nullborn attack, I didn't check around. Just wanted to find the nearest shelter. Survive first."

Joran's eyes softened. "That's understandable. You've been through a lot. We can swing by the Guild after this and get you a new one. They'll help log your Essentia."

Niko offered a faint smile. "Maybe we should."

Careful.

Too much curiosity could expose him. Too little and he wouldn't learn anything. He needed balance.

Still, the name Soul Resonator clung to him. A device that could read the essence of a person… Would it even work on someone like him?

He doubted it.

"Thanks," Niko muttered.

Joran nodded. "Don't mention it."

There was a lull in the conversation. The clink of plates, the low hum of voices from another table. Niko's fingers brushed against the wooden surface of the table.

Then his voice, low but steady:

"…Why did you help me?"

Joran glanced up.

For a moment, something flickered behind his eyes.

"I had a—" He stopped. Smiled. Shrugged. "I mean… what kind of person sees someone bleeding and walks away?" he said, "We're all just trying to survive. Gotta look out for each other, yeah?"

Niko didn't answer.

Joran gave him a thumbs-up. "This world's gone to shit. Full of devils and monsters. If we don't look out for each other? Who will?"

Niko studied him.

Still not sure. Still unsure if this man was the kind of good guy who stays good. Or the kind who waits until trust is earned before twisting the knife.

But for now… he would play along.

Just another survivor.

"...Thanks," he said again.

Joran raised his cup of water. "To survivors, then."

Niko nodded slowly, lifting his own.

"To survivors."

 CHAPTER END.

📘 Preview: Chapter 4 – "Ashes and Echoes"

It was supposed to be a quiet night.

Just a walk. Just a favor.

But when a child's voice echoed through the alley — too calm, too perfect — something inside Niko snapped awake.

The smile was wrong. The eyes were empty.

And Mercy in Panic whispered: That thing isn't human.

Blood follows truth.

And tonight… truth bleeds.