"Remember I told you yesterday," Ascalon said between bites, voice low and unhurried, "that nothing is for free?"
Reika tilted her head. "Yeah, I remember."
A moment passed. Then Ascalon's sharp gaze lifted to meet hers, steeled and cold.
"So now even you want to play 'what are you talking about?'" he said, voice slicing through the calm like a dagger unsheathed.
Reika's mouth opened to speak—"I don't know wha—"
But Ascalon cut her off.
"You gave me food in my time of need. For that, thank you." He paused, wiping his hand on his coat. "Now tell me. Why are you really here?"
His stare turned murderous. Not the fire of someone eager to kill, but the gaze of one who already had, many times. One who knew what it meant to weigh a life in his hands.
A single bead of sweat trailed down Reika's cheek. Her lips trembled, not from fear—but from the pressure of standing before a being who was more than just human.
"I... I asked around about you," she admitted, swallowing. "What are you, really? You wore noble armor when you came into town. You speak like a noble, but sometimes… you act like someone completely different. You don't have a single coin on you—and you nearly gave heart attacks to the town mages when you triggered the barrier spell."
She leaned forward slightly, voice dropping to a whisper.
"So I ask again… What are you?"
Ascalon didn't flinch.
"First," he said, tone like frozen iron, "you're not here just to ask me that. Second, I have no interest in telling you who I am."
Inside his mind, the prince stirred, speaking to the silent dragon that now shared their soul.
"He's being cautious," the prince murmured.
"As he should be," Volkrayn replied, his voice like a growl echoing through ancient caverns. "Her intentions are still unclear. Trust should not be given so freely."
Meanwhile, Reika, unfazed by the cold rejection, pushed on.
"I know this place. I've lived among shadows." Her voice turned practical. "This town is a hub for black market goods. Many items—rare, powerful—have been smuggled through here."
"What did she just say?" the prince snapped in alarm.
Reika quickly held up her hands. "I'm clean now! All legal, I swear. But legal doesn't pay much, and I need money. So—"
She gave an exaggerated wink and made the universal gesture for the coin between her fingers.
"Would you like to work for me? Just temporarily?"
Ascalon stood without a word, brushing crumbs from his lap and moving toward another bench nearby. The bun was still half-eaten in his hand.
"Hey, wait—!" Reika called after him.
Then, with the conviction of someone who had rehearsed it a hundred times but never dared speak it aloud, she shouted:
"I WANT TO BE A MAFIA!"
Ascalon paused mid-bite. "Ahh, these buns are so good," he said, ignoring her.
But Reika wouldn't back down.
"I don't want to be a bad mafia. I want to be a good one. There are towns out there—entire villages—who don't get proper food, medicine, or supplies. The tariffs here are insane. The nobles, the ministers, the guilds—they made the rules to benefit themselves. And the rest of us? We're treated like garbage." Her voice cracked but didn't waver. "I want to show them... we are not garbage."
Those words struck Ascalon like a phantom echo from a time long past.
'We are not garbage.'
He had once said something similar. Long ago. In another life.
The memory returned in fragments—ash-covered streets, the scent of blood, the cries of the betrayed. The day his life was stolen. The day his identity was erased.
Without thinking, Ascalon knelt before Reika. One hand gently rested on her shoulder, grounding her.
"Hatred is not the only way," he said, his voice suddenly warmer. A small, genuine smile curled at the corner of his lips. "So… will you give me more food?"
Reika's eyes sparkled like a child seeing the stars for the first time.
"Yes!" she nodded, almost bouncing.
But the moment broke with Volkrayn's sudden growl from within.
"Ascalon, aren't you forgetting something?"
Ascalon blinked. "Right. The barrier. How do we leave the town without triggering it again?"
Reika waved a dismissive hand. "Please. There are a hundred things banned in Lontara that get through the gates every day. Smuggled cards, illegal enchantments, spirit relics. You think a flame-touched aura is gonna stop me?"
She grinned, a devil-may-care smirk that reeked of chaos and confidence.
"Leave that to me."
Ascalon turned, finishing the last bite of his bun, when a glint of gold peeked out from beneath the collar of his shirt. The sun caught it just right—faint, but enough to catch a merchant's trained eye.
Reika's gaze sharpened. "That locket…"
Ascalon's hand casually rose, as if brushing off a crumb. "Old thing. Doesn't open right," he said, expertly dodging the question with the skill of someone who's been avoiding answers since birth—or perhaps, rebirth.
Reika squinted at him, unconvinced, but decided not to push further. "Hmmm. Alright. But let me guess—you don't have a copper to your name, no batch, no adventurer ID? Did you like… get born yesterday?"
Ascalon chuckled, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves. "I mean, kinda. I was reborn yesterday."
Reika gave him a blank stare.
Then blinked.
Then laughed. "Okay, yeah, you're weird—but I like weird." She gestured enthusiastically. "Come on. I've got a friend at the Adventurers' Guild. She can help you get registered. Cheap, fast, and only mildly illegal. Probably."
"Coming," Ascalon replied, rising from the bench with a relaxed gait.
Then, with a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, he looked inward.
"Sorry I made that decision so fast," he said mentally. "Can I get your permission for this, Your Highness?"
Inside the shared soul, the prince responded with the exasperation of a tired father watching his child make questionable life choices.
"Well, she's not bad. And it's not like we have many options. We can't leave town without setting off alarms, and she's literally dragging us toward the solution," the prince muttered. "Might as well grab the opportunity next to us."
Volkrayn's rumbling voice echoed in immediately after.
"We can always kill the mages. Clean, efficient. No paperwork."
The prince's voice cracked like a whip. "Shut up, you lizard."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Ascalon laughed out loud—outwardly—drawing a confused glance from Reika.
"You okay back there?" she asked, leading him down the cobbled street.
"Yeah. Just the voices in my head arguing about murder. Usual morning," Ascalon replied.
"Oh, same," Reika chirped like that was completely normal. "Mine just argue over profit margins."
Their pace picked up as they weaved through Lontara's bustling streets, dodging street vendors shouting about miracle soaps and skyfish jerky. A donkey brayed aggressively at a passing chicken, a clear sign that the gods of chaos were paying attention today.
Ascalon watched Reika march ahead like she owned the entire town, arms swinging, messy ponytail bouncing, and feet kicking up dust as if her boots had a personal vendetta against dirt.
Behind him, the prince mused, "You know, if we survive this, I might actually miss her when we leave."
Volkrayn scoffed. "Her voice pierces my soul like a harpy's shriek. I already regret living."
"You're dead."
"Exactly."
Ascalon, smiling broader now, followed Reika down the trail she blazed through Lontara like a hurricane wearing boots two sizes too big.
The chaos of his past life felt a little more distant with every step. The tangled web of betrayal, flame, and fury remained—but something lighter was blooming alongside it.
Perhaps, in this new life, absurdity was just another form of healing.