Mortis woke up exhausted the next morning.
His sleep had been plagued by strange dreams—voices calling out to him, hands reaching, grasping, almost touching.
When he finally woke, he looked terrible. His hair was a mess, and dark circles shadowed his eyes.
Malachai, however, was the complete opposite.
He looked like he had enjoyed the best sleep of his life, already moving around energetically, hovering near Mortis.
"My Lord! How did you sleep?" he asked cheerfully.
Mortis gave a weak smile. "It was… alright. How about you?"
Malachai scratched the back of his head. "I suppose it was quite good, my Lord."
After getting ready, they headed downstairs.
Gerald was already at work, setting up tables and wiping down glasses. He moved with renewed vigor—very different from his calm, measured demeanor the night before.
He looked up and smiled brightly. "Good morning! I hope you slept well."
Both of them murmured their agreement—though Mortis wasn't entirely truthful.
"Would you like some breakfast?" Gerald asked.
Mortis hesitated. "Oh, we couldn't impose—"
"Oh, nonsense," Gerald cut in. "Sit down."
Mortis and Malachai exchanged a glance before obeying.
While Gerald prepared the food, Malachai leaned closer.
"My Lord… do we have a plan for today?"
Mortis sighed. "We'll see where the day takes us."
Malachai's eyes lit up. "That sounds exciting!"
At least someone's happy, Mortis thought. I'm definitely not.
Gerald returned with three plates of fresh fruit, setting them down with a soft clatter before taking a seat beside them.
"Go on," he said. "Eat."
Mortis picked at the fruit.
It's good… but Mom's cooking was better.
The door chimed.
Lapsus walked in.
Blossom bounced in behind her.
"My Lord!" Blossom called out, rushing over. "How are you?"
Mortis blinked.
She looked completely different. Her hair was neatly combed, and she wore a clean white dress. Gone was the wild, chaotic girl from yesterday—she looked almost refined.
Mortis smiled. "I'm well. And you?"
"I'm amazing!" she beamed.
Lapsus stood behind her, as composed as ever, dressed in her silver robes with her sword at her side.
Mortis nodded at her.
She returned it coolly.
Gerald cleared his throat. "Would you like anything, Lapsus?"
She shook her head, but her gaze lingered on him. "You look… healthier."
Gerald smiled, glancing at Mortis.
Mortis shifted uncomfortably.
Lapsus' eyes narrowed slightly.
Mortis quickly turned back to Blossom. "Any plans today?"
Blossom nodded eagerly. "Lapsus is going to teach me sword fighting!"
Lapsus placed a hand on Blossom's shoulder, her gaze flicking back to Mortis—sharp, almost probing.
Mortis forced a smile. "That's… wonderful."
Blossom giggled.
While Lapsus and Blossom left to train, Mortis and Malachai spent the day searching for work.
They were turned away again and again.
Too many people.
Not enough jobs.
Mortis sighed.
Not so different from my world.
It made sense now why someone like Lapsus fought in places like The Holding. Even skill didn't guarantee stability.
After hours of searching, they returned empty-handed.
"It's alright, my Lord," Malachai said gently. "We can try again tomorrow."
Mortis nodded, though the weight in his chest remained.
A scream cut through the street.
They froze.
A woman's voice—sharp, terrified.
Mortis and Malachai exchanged a glance and ran.
They found her trembling in the middle of the street, her face pale with fear.
"What happened?" Mortis asked. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head violently. "I… I saw something…"
"What did you see?" Malachai asked urgently.
Her lips trembled.
"A man… I thought he was just a man…"
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"He was made of veins."
Malachai went pale.
Mortis' expression hardened.
He placed a hand on Malachai's shoulder. "Stay here. I'll find it."
"My Lord, that's dangerous—"
"No."
Mortis' voice was firm.
"Stay."
He walked alone.
[Crimson Sight activated.]
The world shifted.
Everything looked normal.
Too normal.
But beneath it—
He felt it.
A pulse.
A rhythm that didn't belong.
Something alive.
Something wrong.
Something that should not exist.
"My Lord."
Mortis turned sharply, irritation flashing.
"Malachai, I told you—"
He stopped.
It wasn't Malachai.
Standing before him—
Was Cassian.