The sun rose lazily over a sky still streaked with grey. The air had gone thick and still, heavy with moisture and the buzzing of flies. Mosquitoes clung to my skin, feasting on whatever blood I hadn't already lost.
I stirred.
"Agh!" I cried out, biting down on the scream as I instinctively pushed myself up with my left arm.
Pain flared like fire through my shoulder. Right... the dislocation. The moose. Last night. It came flooding back in a wave of dull ache and exhaustion.
I stayed still for a moment, letting the pain settle like hot ash. My breath came in shaky pulls.
Okay. Okay. Think. How do I fix a dislocated shoulder? My mind clawed for the answer.
But I came up blank.
I always let the healers handle injuries like this. Honestly, I'd never gotten messed up bad enough to need one—not really. Not until now.
No one's coming to save me.
I clenched my teeth.
Alright. If memory served right... I could pop it back in. That's what they did in the old fighting pits, right?
One shot. One clean motion.
I took a shaky breath and looked down at my shoulder.
The skin around the joint was swollen and red, taut with inflammation. It throbbed with every heartbeat. If I tried to pop it back in, I'd probably black out from the pain. And if I passed out here, in the open, with no shelter or food nearby... well, that'd be the end of me.
I let out a slow breath. Hot air against the morning chill. My shirt was still crusted with bits of lizard meat and dried blood, and it reeked—sweet and sour rot. No wonder the flies wouldn't leave me alone. My arms were marked with lacerations, thin but stinging. The kind that never bled much but burned for days. Little reminders of how fragile I'd become.
There was no point searching the ruined village anymore. I needed to find real civilization—somewhere with people, medicine, food. Somewhere I could start over.
But which direction?
North? Left? Where even was north? The sun was rising, sure, but I didn't know what side of the city I'd woken up on. I'd only passed through Synbard once before the war, and that was years ago—no, centuries now. I was disoriented, injured, hungry, and half-feral.
Still, I had to move.
I planted my good hand on the ground and used my legs to push myself up, wincing as my body screamed in protest. My shoulder throbbed, my ribs ached, and the skin on my heels stung from open blisters. The longer I stayed here, the more likely my wounds would fester. Keep moving. That's the rule. Always keep moving.
It was simple. Walk in a straight line long enough and you'll eventually hit something—another town, a road, a sign of life.
The Virtues couldn't have killed everyone off, right?
The sun climbed higher, merciless and hot. It scorched the back of my neck and made the air shimmer above the cracked, overgrown stone paths. Weeds reached up to my knees, hiding jagged rocks beneath them. I stumbled more than once, swearing under my breath.
I broke a branch from a crumbled fence post and used it as a walking stick. A crude crutch, but it helped. God, I thought as I limped forward, I'm turning into an old man. And I was only thirty-three.
Across a wide clearing, I spotted the same herd of bucks I'd seen before—graze-happy and unbothered, with the same massive moose standing guard like a fortress. A few of them raised their heads to glance at me before returning to their grazing. I gave them a wide berth. No way in hell I was going near that monster again.
The city seemed to stretch on forever. Buildings long collapsed into piles of brick and bone. Ivy devoured walls. Statues had been snapped at the neck, faces lost to moss and erosion. It felt endless. Like walking through a graveyard of a forgotten civilization.
How wide is Synbard? I wondered. I must've been walking for over an hour now. Maybe more. Or maybe my sense of time was skewed by hunger and fatigue.
And still, the thought circled like a vulture: How am I supposed to kill the Virtue Priestesses like this?
I could barely stand. My arm was useless. My body felt like wet ash. It would take weeks—months—just to get back to normal. And to reach my peak again?
I grimaced. Would the world even need me then?
It had moved on without me for 359 years.
But deep down, I already knew the answer.
Yes.
At long last, I reached the edge of the city. A crooked, rusted signboard leaned against a broken archway. The paint was flaked off, and the wood had split down the middle, but I could still make out the faded lettering:
WELCOME TO SYNBARD
— "The City of Strings, Song, and Solace."
Synbard. That was its name.
Memories stirred. Music festivals that lit up the streets with colored lanterns and drunken dancing. The sound of viols and flutes drifting from taverns. Market stalls lined with silver jewelry, hand-carved lutes, street food seasoned with spices that tickled your nose.
Now? Just weeds and wildlife. A graveyard. Not a single soul in sight.
I looked back once, scanning the ruined skyline of broken domes and bent spires.
What happened to everyone? Mass evacuation? Disease?
Or something worse.
No.
The answer settled in my gut like a stone.
It was the Virtue Priestesses. They cleansed this place.
Mass murder? Enslavement? I wouldn't put anything past them. Not after what they did to Alfred. Not after what Chastity did to my company.
I turned away from Synbard, leaving behind its hollow streets and ghost-song memories.
And kept walking. And as I climbed up a small hill, I found it.
Civilization.
I looked around city. If I remembered correctly, it used to be nothing more than a couple of rundown homesteads haphazardly thrown together. But now... now it was unrecognizable.
The world had changed, and I had missed it all. How long had I been gone? A few decades? Centuries?
I pushed the thought aside and forced myself to focus on the present.
"Is there a doctor anywhere here?" I asked weakly, my voice barely rising above a hoarse rasp. A girl, no older than sixteen, passed by, her brown dress clinging to her like it was the only piece of cloth she owned. She gave me a glance, as if I were some stray cat on the street.
"Yes, Gracious sir," she said, her voice flat. "There's a healer's room just three blocks away." Then, without so much as another glance, she kept walking.
"Gracious sir?" I thought. Who the hell talks like that?
I didn't have the energy to care.
I turned in the direction she'd pointed, my legs barely holding me up as I limped forward. White walls, sleek and pristine, gleamed in the harsh sunlight. Five gold rings wrapped around the building, each one marking a floor.
Everything here felt... off.
Every building I passed had the same stupid design—circular with golden rings. From a distance, it looked like someone got lazy and just made the same blueprint for every single structure. But up close? Up close, it was like being in a fever dream. Everything was too clean. Too perfect. Too... controlled. Eerie.
People walked by, giving me a wide berth. I couldn't blame them. I must've looked like a madman: clothes that didn't exist in this century soaked in dirt and blood, hair matted and unkempt, wounds oozing, body barely clinging to life. Theirs were simple brown robes, nothing fancy. The same drab cloth that made everyone blend together, like they were all one. There was no variation between the farmer, the cook, the slave. Hell, even the nobles looked like this. Just brown, brown, and more brown. It was like they were all trying to erase what made them individuals.
What the hell was going on?
I kept moving, pushing through the crowd, heading for the healer's place. My legs burned, but I didn't stop. Not yet.
The cylindrical building stood at the end of the street, dominating the space. The gold rings that circled it weren't just decoration; they glinted in the light like they were daring me to come closer, taunting me with the idea of some higher, unreachable power. Like the Virtue Priestesses: shiny, perfect on the outside, but hollow inside. And that's what I had to deal with now. This shiny new world that couldn't possibly care less about a man like me.
My stomach grumbled again, but there wasn't the gnawing pain from before. Now, it was just a dull, hollow ache. A reminder that I had nothing left. My body didn't even care about the hunger anymore. It was too busy trying to figure out if it could still keep me alive for another day.
I reached the door of the building—sliding metal, cold to the touch. I grabbed the handle with my good hand, yanked it open, that didn't work, slide it open and stepped inside.
Whatever the hell was waiting for me in here, I wasn't sure I was ready for it. But I had no choice.
But seriously, where the hell did they get so much gold? That was the most shocking part of this whole mess. I mean, a single gold necklace could cost anywhere between 1,000 and 10,000 coins, and here every damn building had gold lining it like it was nothing. Nothing. Was gold this common now? Had it lost all value? I couldn't make sense of it.
Wait. How the hell was I supposed to pay for treatment? I didn't have a single coin on me, and with all this gold everywhere, wouldn't everything be through the roof in price? Or had the whole damn economy shifted in my absence? Dammit, I wasn't prepared for this.
But I was already in the building. No turning back now.
The moment I stepped inside, the smell hit me—eucalyptus and alcohol. Not the kind of alcohol you drink to burn away memories, but the kind that really burns when it touches open wounds. I hated it.
The first floor was eerily quiet. White stone benches lined the walls, and gold trim ran along every edge, every corner. It was a sterile, lifeless kind of beauty. Nothing like the crumbling mess of a city I'd come from.
At the far end of the room, a semi-circular desk sat under a massive arch. Behind it, a figure in a brown robe, just like everyone else, sat with a blank, unreadable expression. Their eyes flicked toward me as I approached.
"State your ailment," they said, their voice flat, robotic.
I gritted my teeth, fighting off the pain that was starting to make my vision blur. "Left shoulder's dislocated. Got cuts. Probably an infection starting somewhere. You got anything for that?" My voice came out rough, strained.
The figure didn't flinch. They nodded once, slow and deliberate, as if they had all the time in the world. Then, they stood up, the motion smooth, practiced. "Follow."
I did, barely managing to keep my balance. My body felt so damn fragile, every step shaky. What the hell was happening to me? I had never felt this weak before. Not even when I was a kid.
We made our way up the winding staircase. The rails were cold and slick under my hand, the mixture of gold and steel unnervingly smooth. With each step, I could feel myself slipping, my balance off. My shoulder ached like hell, and my stomach burned, empty and growling in protest. But I kept moving, keeping my good hand on the rail to stop myself from toppling over.
The second level was smaller than the first, though just as pristine. Unlike the wide open space below, this room was broken up into smaller rooms, each one cut into the circumference of the building. Ten rooms in total.
The figure led me to one of them, labeled "Two." They didn't speak as we entered, and I was too exhausted to ask anything.
Inside, the room was sparse—a narrow bed, white as the walls, and an array of instruments I didn't recognize hanging from the walls.
"I am Healer Tav," the person said, their voice smooth, professional. "Please disrobe and lie down."
I didn't want to strip down in front of anyone. "I just need my damn shoulder fixed," I growled, my voice tight with pain.
Tav's eyes didn't betray a hint of emotion. They regarded me like I was just another patient to be dealt with. "You have multiple injuries requiring attention," they said, their tone calm but unyielding. "And your hygiene is compromising the sterility of this facility. Please disrobe."
I clenched my jaw, reluctant, but I had no choice. Wincing as the pain shot through my shoulder, I pulled my filthy shirt off, letting it drop to the floor.
Tav didn't flinch. They examined me with a detached efficiency, their eyes scanning over my body like they were cataloging every injury, every bruise. Then, they nodded slowly, almost like they were making a mental note.
"You are a Waiter," Tav observed, their eyes lingering on the faint remnants of whatever had been left on my skin from the Waiting. "How long?"
I didn't answer at first. What did it matter? But the silence stretched, and I knew I had to speak.
Three hundred fifty-nine years, apparently," I muttered. "How can you tell?"
"The tissue atrophy patterns are distinctive. The body doesn't age during Waiting, but it deteriorates in specific ways. Also, your clothes don't belong in this modern time period. Your manner of speech is unusual. You're dirty and disheveled, and your insolence is out of place with the regulated behavior in these parts..."
"Okay, okay, you can stop now," I snarled as his observations piled on, each more irritating than the last.
Tav rubbed some slippery white cream on my dislocated shoulder, massaging it as he prepared to relocate the joint. "This will hurt."
"I know. I know. Just do your thing so I can get back to normal," I grunted, trying to brace myself for what was coming.
CRACK-POP!
Damn! The pain shot through me like a thousand daggers. My shoulder snapped back into its socket, and I thought the pain would ease. Instead, it just… changed. It wasn't burning anymore, but now it felt like my nerves were being squeezed tight, a hard throb pulsing through the area with each pulse.
I tried moving my arm, but every slight motion felt like I was being stabbed. At least it could move now, even if that movement was limited to a soft swing of the arm in its new position.
Tav wrapped cloth around my shoulder to keep it in place. "Don't exert yourself. It should be back to normal in about two weeks."
"Is it supposed to burn this bad?" I asked through clenched teeth. "Sure you didn't make a mistake?"
"Arrogant fool." Tav's voice was cold, but his eyes held a hint of disdain. "My technique is sufficient. The reason it hurts like that is because of your atrophied muscles. They can't hold onto the muscle fibers like they used to, so every injury you have will feel exponentially worse than before."
Shit. That wasn't the news I wanted to hear. My mind raced. I had to get back in shape. Fast.
"How much longer before my muscles... deatrophy themselves?" I asked, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.
Tav chuckled bitterly. "They're never going back to normal. This is your life from now on."
My thoughts ground to a halt. "What?" The word slipped out before I could stop it.
Tav's eyes flicked around the room as though making sure no one could overhear him. "Patience's... victims don't return to normal once they hit the atrophy stage. Once your body starts deteriorating, it can't repair itself. That usually happens around the fifty-year mark. You're the oldest Waiter I've ever laid eyes on. Your atrophy is severe, and it won't fix itself. Believe me, we've tried."
"No. No, no, NO!" I wanted to lunge, to flip the bed in sheer rage, but my body—my broken, weak body—wouldn't even cooperate. How the hell was I supposed to fight the Virtues if I couldn't even get back to my original state? I couldn't even fight them when I was at my peak!
My fists trembled, the blood boiling in my veins. I had to kill those damn Priestesses.
"Who's the closest Virtue Priestess in the area?" My voice came out forced, barely holding the fury inside.
Tav's eyes widened, not in shock, but in disappointment. "So you've got a vendetta against them, huh? The Priestesses took control around three hundred and sixty years ago. You must've been one of the first rebels."
Rebels. That was how they remembered us. Not as the fighters for freedom, but as the damned rebels. The present generation had forgotten everything, but I hadn't. Not one damn thing.
"Just tell me who the closest Virtue Priestess is and where she is so I can go cut her fucking neck off!" My voice cracked with raw anger, but Tav didn't flinch.
Instead, he leaned in quickly, his movements swift and calculated. He dipped a cloth in some liquid and pressed it into the wound from the moose attack last night.
Pain exploded in my skull. It was as if fire had been poured directly into the cut, but then, at the same time, an ice-cold vice clamped down on it. It was unbearable—screaming, searing pain that made my vision blur and my body flinch involuntarily.
Tav lowered his face to mine, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sent a chill down my spine.
"Your Pride is not needed here. Try a little humility if you want to survive in the new world."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. The pain was overwhelming, but I fought it back, forcing myself to meet Tav's gaze. I wasn't going to let him see how much it was killing me. I'm not weak. I repeated it to myself, over and over.
Tav's words about arrogance and pride. The uniformity of the buildings, the matching clothes, the dead air that hung over this city. What the hell were the Virtues? Kindness, Chastity, Patience, Charity, Diligence, Temperance, and...
Humility.
"So Humility runs this place, huh?" I asked, my voice low, steady as I stared back into his eyes, refusing to look away.
Tav's expression shifted, his deep brown eyes suddenly flickering with something that resembled passion. Without warning, he pushed me back onto the bed, tearing the cloth from my wound. The pain didn't fade; it lingered, a constant throb, but I bit down on my teeth and endured.
"Despite the fact that all you look like is a bag of bones clinging to the false hope that you can exact revenge on these monsters," Tav said, his voice laced with bitter amusement, "it seems you can actually use that head of yours to think."
This guy... he felt different from everyone else outside. The others were resigned to the lives they'd been given; their spirits crushed under the weight of the system. Tav, on the other hand, seemed like he was holding something back—like the real him was fighting to break free.
I could sense it.
"You don't agree with the Virtues?" I pressed, hoping to get more out of him.
"I was forced to agree with them," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Trust me, you don't know how things work here. If you fight them, dying is the best outcome."
That last line sent a cold chill down my spine. But I wouldn't back down. Not now.
"Chastity killed my friend. Alfred. I have to avenge him," I growled. "I have to put an end to their tyranny and twisted ideals. Where's your pride? Come fight with me!"
I shouted, not caring who heard me. My voice rang out in the sterile room, but I knew—no matter how loud I yelled—I didn't look the part. I wasn't the warrior I used to be. Tav just looked at me, calm as ever, before pulling some bandages from his kit and starting to tend to my cuts.
It didn't hurt as much as the liquid he used earlier, but it was still enough to make me clench my teeth, grinding them down on the edge of pain.
"So you know what they're capable of," Tav said, his hands steady as he applied the salve. "Then you should also know that it's hopeless. If you fight Humility, you'll wish you were dead."
His voice had a finality to it, a quiet weight that pressed down on the room. He wasn't saying this out of fear—he was saying it like someone who had lived through it.
"This happened to you?" I asked, my voice edged with curiosity, wondering if he was speaking from experience.
"No," he muttered under his breath, almost to himself. "If it had, I wouldn't be standing here."
His hands kept working, but I could tell his mind wasn't in the room anymore. "I come from a long line of dissenters. They were all... taken care of. Their rule isn't that bad. Just obey them, and you'll have a decent life."
I scoffed. "Not going to happen."
I wasn't some passive sheep. I wasn't going to just roll over and play dead. But my body was weak, and I knew that if I wanted to fight, I'd have to play smarter. I had to get the information, build some kind of strategy. Even an army, if it came to that—though that wasn't my style. I was a brawler, a fighter. I didn't lead people. But if it meant getting back at the Priestesses, I'd do whatever it took.
"You must know some other dissenters, right?" I asked, urgency creeping into my voice. "Some rebel factions still holding out? Any weaknesses in Humility's powers?"
Tav paused for a moment, his hands slowing as if I'd asked something too dangerous. Then, with bitterness thick in his tone, he spoke again.
"Like you'd even be able to see her," he muttered, eyes hardening.
I narrowed my eyes at him. What the hell did that mean?
Then, as if the conversation were already over, Tav stood up straight and wiped his hands on his pants. "The healing session's over," he said, sealing up the last of my wounds with a final, mechanical movement.
"C'mon, please—" I started, pushing myself up on the bed, but he wasn't having any of it.
"No," Tav cut me off, his voice suddenly cold, the neutrality of 'Humility' returning to his voice. "I will not join you in a fight that doesn't exist. Pay me for my services."
"Pay you?!" I exploded, anger spiking. "I'm fucking broke! I've been in a coma for the past three centuries! I don't have anything!"
Tav didn't even blink. He just crossed his arms and stared at me with that same disinterested look.
"I should've seen this coming. Waiters are horrible patients to deal with," Tav muttered under his breath. He moved over to a cabinet and withdrew a set of clean, brown clothes, ignoring me completely. "These will fit you. Your old garments will be incinerated."
"No," I said firmly, shaking my head. "I keep my clothes."
"They're biohazards," he replied flatly, still not looking at me.
"They're all I have left from my time," I shot back.
Tav paused, considering this for a moment, before nodding. "Fine. They'll be cleaned. Now, about payment. You need to go ask for the Humility's Advent. Then, ask to work for the North healer. I'll find you if you don't."
"I'm not sure I can work. Can't you see my situation? Everything fucking hurts!" I growled. "Don't you have any painkillers?"
"No." Tav shook his head. "But I do have something else."
Before I could respond, he laid his hands on my shoulders. Immediately, the pain in my body softened, even if just a little. I gritted my teeth in surprise, but then Tav's face twisted with a pained expression.
"Did you just take my pain away?" I asked, my voice incredulous. Only the Priestesses had that kind of power. "What the hell was that?"
"It's a blessing from the Virtue Priestess of Charity," Tav said, his voice casual, as though he were discussing the weather. "Now get to work." He gave me a firm push toward the door.
I stepped through, noticing the faint hum of voices from the other rooms. A few murmurs, distant but unmistakable. "Who's in the other rooms?" I asked, trying to get a glimpse.
Tav's face shifted, his earlier calm replaced with something else—something darker, like he was in pain. "You don't need to know."