The cliff cast a shadow over the thorned ààlè symbols carved by hands long gone. Darkness pooled in the courtyards and alleyways, though it began fleeing as lanterns clouded the air.
A bunny in a bush rustled nearby.
Leonardo's hand instinctively brushed against the small knife hidden in his boot, a habit from years of navigating the treacherous cave systems. He shivered as he remembered the donrolf incident from two weeks ago.
"First one down gets two meals," Ronald declared.
The spiraling cave entrance loomed before them.
Leonardo gazed at the moon, its luminescence casting an ethereal glow on his amber eyes.
"I want my name to shine on the moon, though I can't explain why—or even how to make it happen. I just want to leave something," he said, his voice low and intense—part dream, part desperate declaration.
Ronald's laugh was sharp. "Not that quote again." He kicked some pebbles, each impact echoing like a warning. "You'll have me."
But Leonardo's eyes were fixed on the horizon, on something beyond the immediate. "No, I don't mean literally. Never literally... but yes, I'll have you."
The second, smaller moon hung motionless—an unblinking eye witnessing their descent.
Leonardo hated the mines, but he hated the Overseer's sneer even more. One day, he'd carve his name into the moon itself—something even those fat bastards couldn't erase.
This, he didn't say to Ronald.
Ronald began running downward from the cliff as Leonardo trailed as quickly as he could, dust churning around their feet. The weight of the air slammed onto their faces as their breaths fought back.
Night creatures emerged from shadowy recesses.
"I made it!" Ronald slammed the inn's door, triumph and something darker gleaming in his eyes.
Leonardo followed, close behind but not close enough. "Wait, you didn't tell me in time," he protested, his face a mixture of frustration and something deeper—a sense that this moment meant more than a simple race.
Rald appeared behind the counter, his movements mechanical, eyes holding secrets. "What'll it be, sir?"
"It's me, Rald."
"Oh, 'Nard, I heard the Overseer came..." Rald responded, returning to his night drink—a ritual that seemed to hold more significance than mere refreshment.
"Yes," Leonardo replied, but no response came. He waited in silence before deciding to get some fresh air.
The night festival was about to begin, and Volnia was transforming.
Leonardo stepped outside, gazing at the stars. His perspective was changing, a restlessness growing within him.
The nightly creatures—grotesque, tall figures with wings—watched from the moonlight, massive and unnervingly still.
For some reason, they didn't attack people. Yet.
"What if I just rule over it?" he mused, then laughed—a sound caught between humor and something more desperate. "What if I just become free from everything?"
The town was lively tonight. "It's the lizard-folk's winter solstice," he thought.
Most people didn't even know about the solstice, but the lizard-folk had found a way to implement it into their history.
His curiosity was piqued. He took a whiff of the fresh night air and walked to the town's outskirts, the second-largest lake in Moerlan visible.
The lake was so calm, the ships barely moved—just a few, scattered across the water.
"Maybe I could be a fisherman... or perhaps a guard. Guiding tourists could work too. I know Volnia's cave system like the back of my hand," he continued musing.
"Yeah... I'll be a guide, just not for this cave system," he finally said in a serious tone, turning his attention to the festival as it officially began.
Running toward the town, his worn-out shoes breaking a bit, he blended into the lively crowd. "I have to get back before I get killed."
Lanterns of all shapes and sizes were strung from building to building, casting a warm, flickering glow over the cobblestone streets below.
In a corner of the square, a group of lizard-folk performers dazzled the audience with their acrobatic feats.
Nearby, elves in flowing robes danced gracefully, their movements fluid and hypnotic.
Further down the street, Ronald caught up with Leonardo, holding two plates laden with food.
He grinned, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "You've got to try this stew," he urged, handing Leonardo a steaming bowl. "It's made with herbs from the hills just outside Volnia. It's honestly so good. Best in the entire world and beyond," Ronald finished with a flair.
Leonardo chuckled. "You're a stall owner now?" he asked, accepting the bowl gratefully. As they ate, they found a quiet spot near the edge of the square, away from the bustling crowds.
"A stall owner is better than being a miner, so yes," Ronald replied.
For a moment, Leonardo forgot about the hardships of the mine and the uncertainties of his future.
"You know, I never really understood you," Ronald said, munching his food with vigorous intent. "All I know is you're my brother, and that's what matters."
"And all I know is we'll go through everything together," Leonardo replied, eating with the same intensity.
"I think Mom hated me before she died. She most definitely did, with the way she stared at me—and stared at you," Ronald muttered, a tear falling down his face.
"I won't lie to you. I am both thankful and sad for her death."
"Ronald..." Leonardo spoke. He didn't know what to say, and Ronald knew.
"Oh yeah, the info I have on Dad? He still keeps Mom's ring in his pocket, like almost every time. Took me a while to get it," Ronald said proudly.
"How is that going to help?" Leonardo asked, confused.
"He doesn't want anyone knowing, so we'll just 'kindly' tell him we do," Ronald replied, laughing.
"You're one nasty stall owner," Leonardo said, laughing with him.
"The best in the worllllddd."
This was everything two brothers could ever need.
Tonight, surrounded by friends and neighbors, he felt a sense of belonging that warmed his heart.
"Meet me at the inn," Leonardo called out.
"Yeah, yeah! See you in four hours," Ronald responded, walking in the opposite direction.
"What?!" Leonardo turned quickly, but Ronald was already running. "Nothing!"
The festival continued late into midnight, the music and laughter echoing through the streets. Leonardo tried his best to go home when most people didn't.
Bumping into a few people, one acted as oddly as he did—grabbing Leonardo's arm quickly. "Are you Leonardo?" they asked, practically giggling.
He yanked his arm back, heart skipping. There was something wrong—not just in the man's grip, but in the way his smile didn't match his eyes behind that hood.
"Yes... wait, no? Let go of me!" Leonardo replied, his voice still, though his confusion deepened as he took in the stranger's appearance—juxtaposed against a stature more fitting for an Agnite berserker, towering over him with an imposing presence.
"I'm your biggest fan! But I never liked how Rosalina or Angelina treated you. Maybe it started at Rollwind Mountain, right? Then Evergreen Hill, with the pixies... You didn't understand why beauty has to bleed. And at the Undergrowing Lake?"
"You still don't understand why beauty has to bleed." The stranger's smile widened. "But you will."
Leonardo's thoughts raced as they rambled on. Who are those people? He had never heard those names before, let alone in the same breath.
Why does he talk so quickly? The places, however, were vaguely familiar—like words in a book he read, hated, but still read. But then it struck him—those places weren't in Volnia. Not even inside the Empire of Moerlan.
"Who is Rosalina?" Leonardo asked. The person watched, smiling heavily.
Leonardo noticed a symbol. It glowed very brightly. Four slashes—each slash larger than the last, but none bigger than a hand's length.
"Rosalina is your soon-to-be lover," the stranger muttered.
"What do you mean?" Leonardo replied, his tone a hard mixture of paranoia and alarm.
"I'm saying I know you more than you know yourself," the stranger declared.
"Get out of my face," Leonardo demanded, trying to shove past the person.
"This is what I like," the stranger said, smiling even more, startling Leonardo. "A tale of death, anguish, guilt, revival, and the very best identity."
"Who do you want to be?"
They stayed in silence for a few minutes. Leonardo watched, unable to speak, but every word from the stranger hit a chord inside him.
"Do you just want to explore? Because if yes, you have a whole new world waiting for you—twenty-one, if I'm being specific," the stranger muttered, watching him.
"I—" Leonardo froze. He felt unsafe. "Rald..." he managed to mutter.
"See you in chapter three. Or was it nineteen? I get so disorganized with timelines."
The stranger frowned, making Leonardo stagger back as they melted into the crowd, vanishing like a wisp of smoke. Leonardo stared after him, unsettled. That was fear, he thought, his breath uneven.
The white cloak had concealed almost everything, save for a bulging bag strapped beneath it. The only part of the stranger that had been visible was his right arm, making it easier to discern his gender. The man's build was unmistakable—no woman in all of Moerlan could possess such a physique.
Still in his dirty miner's outfit, Leonardo wondered if that's why most people avoided him at the festival. Of course, no one wanted to talk to a dirt-caked miner. He felt the weight of every stare, every silence—like he didn't belong at this festival, or anywhere.
He passed by an alleyway and saw a man being eaten—his screams dying out as the blood loss overtook his voice.
Leonardo stared, eyes lowering to the spreading pool of crimson. The victim was an elf.
This man is already dead, Leonardo thought, just as the night creature turned toward him—its eyes hollow, devoid of purpose.
Leonardo crouched low. If it's a night creature, stay low. Night creatures hate motion.
Sweat beaded at his temple as the thick stench of blood clung to the air.
The creature stood, crow-like wings twitching in the night breeze.
Leonardo subtly shifted his weight toward his ankle, breath shallow.
The night creature fixated on the stranger who had just passed the alley—then snapped its gaze to Leonardo, screeching as people nearby scattered in panic.
"A night creature!"
"Call the guards!"
"Hey, missed me? I've been waiting for ages," the stranger boomed, giggling.
"Why are you here?" Leonardo asked in shock. He'd had enough strange encounters for one night.
He wanted to punch him. Or beg him for help. Or just run.
"Ah, were you with Ronald? He's one of my favorites, you know. A bit unimportant, but that brotherly bond sticks—even if you're a horrible brother," the figure said, rummaging through a pouch with swift, practiced hands.
He's clearly insane. He's going to die, Leonardo concluded inwardly.
The night creature lunged as the stranger tilted backward, pivoting with insane speed.
Being called a horrible brother drained every ounce of fear from Leonardo—replacing it with fury.
The creature staggered, then charged again—this time with its claws extended.
The words had cut deeper than any blade. Not because they were wrong—
But because they weren't.
Leonardo's fist clenched. He was ready to strike.
"You're projecting. You know it's true," the stranger continued, raising a hand from beneath his cloak and seizing the night creature by the throat.
Leonardo paused, eyes fixed on the convulsing body before him. He didn't respond.
How does this person know me? was the only thought raging in his mind.
No matter how it struggled, the night creature couldn't so much as scratch the stranger's cape.
The grip tightened. Leonardo stared, stunned by this display of hidden strength.
A crack echoed—a sound so sharp that Leonardo squinted and turned away.
Green blood erupted from the creature's neck, splattering the stranger's hand.
They pulled out a small, intricately carved stone and handed it to Leonardo.
Didn't he just fight a night creature? How is he so composed?
"I almost forgot to give you this. I love chaos—it's my favorite theme," the stranger said cheerfully.
"Being in the middle of it—and the cause of it—is so fun. You'll love dragons."
Leonardo stood, mind blank, the stone cool and smooth in his fingers.
The stranger's enigmatic words lingered.
"Chaos?"
"Uncontrolled chaos," the stranger replied, then added,
"Chaos isn't destruction—it's freedom," he hissed, tracing the four slashes on his arm.
Why in Moerlan's dynasty would I take a stone from a stranger—and accept it?
He'd do anything to escape the mines. And now, standing in this strange moment, he wanted it—deep down, he truly did.
"Well, that's it," the figure said, their voice like a cold morning breeze, sending a slight shiver through Leonardo.
"You'll want to throw it away. Maybe you will. That's how fate works, Leonardo—ugly, small, and impossible to forget."
They shrugged off their cloak, revealing a mask underneath. It was plain yet striking—dark blue, with intricate lines etched from its base to the nose. It pulsed faintly, like Agnite radiation.
"Have fun," the stranger muttered. "Because I know I will."
Then, stepping out of the alley, the figure walked away.
Leonardo remained, standing between two deaths: an innocent elf and a night creature—gluttony incarnate.
He couldn't tell if the man was mad—or he himself—or if the world around him was finally breaking.
Leonardo gripped the stone tighter, its smooth surface humming faintly in his palm.
He should throw it. He should run into the inn and close the door shut. But instead, he stood there—frozen. The weight of the past few hours pulled at his shoulders like wet iron.
Ronald's laugh echoed in his head, twisted now by guilt.
The mines, his mother's blood-stained sheets, the Overseer's whip—all clawed their way back into his memory. The world had already killed him in pieces; maybe this was the final cut.
"I don't want this," he muttered to the empty street. "But I don't want that either."
The stone pulsed again. Softly.
It didn't promise freedom. It promised something. And that was more than the caves ever gave.
Leonardo closed his eyes, took a breath, and crushed it between his hands.
Everything feels still.
Perhaps because everything is still.
The stone's cold touch still lingered in his palm—but now he was holding Ronald's hand. Then it wasn't Ronald. It was the rough, cracked fingers of his mother, pulling him down into the mine tunnel. No—he was five again. Or sixteen. Or already dead.
Voices flickered in and out.
"Dig, 'Nard."
"You ever wonder why they want to act god?"
"I think Mom hated me before she died..."
The faces blurred into masks—miners with hollow eyes, strangers wearing smiles that didn't fit. A whistle screeched like the mine bell, and then it became a laugh. A woman's? No. The stranger's.
Above him, moons cracked and poured ink.
He wasn't falling. He was being peeled away.
And then—
"What do we have here?"
[Uninvited guest]
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