The sun was rising, gilding the treetops in a hazy golden shimmer that washed the forest in warmth. Birds had begun to stir, chirping softly in the canopy above. Niko felt absurdly tired. He could barely keep his legs from giving out beneath him. The adrenaline had long since faded, replaced by a deep ache in his limbs and that faint ringing in his head that always came when burnout was near.
Except… it hadn't come.
He should've collapsed during the fight. Every time he pushed his limits, burnout punished him with ten minutes of paralysis. That was the rule. The curse. So why not this time?
He glanced sideways at Chalice, now bathed in golden sunlight. For a moment, Niko forgot about everything—his soreness, his confusion, his exhaustion. Chalice looked like something sculpted from myth. His long, golden hair swayed slightly in the breeze, and the sun caught on it like it was woven with light. His features, sharp and elegant, belonged in temples or carved into ancient marble.
"…Do all incarnations look like that?" Niko muttered under his breath.
He wasn't sure if he was jealous, intimidated, or both.
Niko blinked, then turned slightly. "Hey… how do you know my name?"
Chalice didn't look at him. He just gave a sly, sidelong glance. "Can't reveal that yet."
His voice was calm, measured, a little too smooth—definitely trying to sound mysterious.
Niko squinted at him. "Wow. You really just said that. You're gonna do the whole 'mystery man' thing now? What's next? Are you gonna vanish into a crow and leave me with riddles?"
Chalice didn't answer. He just smiled faintly, like someone amused by a child who thought they were clever.
Niko turned away, rolling his eyes, and surveyed their surroundings. Now that the chaos had passed, he finally had a chance to think. Trees stretched out around them, thick and ancient, but scattered with signs of recent battle—broken branches, scorched roots, a long line carved into the ground where Niko remembered being slammed into it.
His thoughts drifted to Iri.
He had been gone for nearly an entire day. What would she say?
He imagined her hitting him square on the head with the butt of her blade, calling him an idiot. Or worse—he imagined her greeting him with complete indifference, just a blank stare and a half-shrug. That might sting more than anything.
Either way, he needed to get back. They'd only just arrived in this city. Staying together was the only reason they hadn't completely drowned in its strangeness.
Niko sighed. The forest was quiet, but the distant sound of city birds and the smell of smoke hinted that civilization wasn't far. He vaguely remembered seeing rooftops in the distance when Chalice hurled him skyward like a ragdoll. The city might be a short walk… but walking sounded like a horrible idea.
He turned to Chalice again. "Hey… any chance you've got, like, a fast way back to the city?"
Chalice looked at him with that same unreadable face. Then he chuckled.
It was a strange, almost gentle sound—older brother energy, if Niko had to name it. "You sound like a little brother asking for a ride."
"Not denying it," Niko muttered. "Seriously. My legs feel like overcooked noodles."
Chalice held out a hand. "Think of a soul. Any soul you've come into contact with."
Niko blinked. "What?"
"Essence remembers. So do souls," Chalice said simply. "Just focus on someone. Someone whose presence is strong enough to tether."
Niko took a deep breath, then closed his eyes. The first face that came to mind was… Yuki. The bartender. Kind of a grump. Kind of a smooth-talker. But he'd shown Niko to the black market and, honestly, been one of the few people in this world who hadn't immediately tried to kill or manipulate him.
Niko opened his eyes. "Alright. Yuki."
Chalice nodded once. "Good. Then meet me at the Dark Tower. Three days. Sharp."
His voice dropped an octave, tone low and final. "That is when… our war will begin."
Before Niko could even scoff at the drama of it, the world shifted.
He didn't blink. Didn't fall. Just—shifted.
Like a page had turned and now he was in a different chapter.
He stood, slightly dazed, right outside the tavern's back entrance. The familiar smell of beer, smoke, and roasted meat filled his nose. Morning dew clung to the air, and the street was empty, save for one man.
Yuki.
The bartender was standing by the delivery crates, stretching and unlocking the back door to begin preparations for the day. His back was turned. For a moment, Niko just stood there, unsure if this was real.
Then Yuki turned.
And screamed.
Like he'd seen a ghost.
"WHAT THE—?!" Yuki stumbled back against the crates, knocking one over with a loud clatter. "What—who—how—?"
Niko lifted a hand weakly. "Hey."
Yuki blinked at him, chest heaving. "…Niko?"
He looked him up and down. Niko probably looked like a complete mess—burnt shirt, scratched arms, hair sticking up in all the wrong directions.
"You look like a bum!" Yuki finally shouted.
"That's fair," Niko replied, deadpan.
"…Where the hell did you come from?!"
Niko opened his mouth, then closed it. Then smiled, just a little.
"Long story," he said.
And for once, he meant it.