Edelstadt.
That name alone was enough to freeze Ashen's heart. It had only taken the blink of an eye, a second suspended in the void, for him to open his eyes... here.
Here, in the city of his death, in the city of his past life.
The capital hadn't changed. Still those narrow streets, those uneven cobblestones, those white walls stained by time. The air carried the same smell of smoke, rain, sweat, and warm bread. It stank of others' wealth, and the misery of those who served.
Ashen staggered through the alleys, dressed in rags, barefoot on the icy stones. Every step reignited the pain. His reincarnated body was still fragile. But he kept walking. He didn't know where he was going — he only knew he would never go back. Never. Not home. Not anywhere.
His family?
Let them burn.
The wind blew hard on the heights. He had found shelter in an alley not far from the Grand Plaza, where merchants shouted, where the rich passed by... and sometimes tossed a coin to the jesters.
He climbed onto an old wooden crate, his face covered in mud, his eyes full of silent fire.
— Hear ye, hear ye! The king has fallen in love with a donkey!
Children giggled. Adults stopped. He continued.
— Yes, ladies and gentlemen, a donkey! But not just any: a poet donkey! Listen to him: "I'm the king's donkey, who farts and who prays, I've got more wisdom than the whole court any day!"
He did a somersault, fell on purpose, rolled on the ground. Then he stood up again, arms raised, a grotesque expression on his face. He danced, leapt, spun around like a possessed puppet. He mimicked a limping horse, then a sick nobleman, then a gossiping maid.
People laughed. Not all. Some pretended. Some threw coins.
He was playing the clown. He was playing the fool.
But this time... he was the one leading the dance.
A coin brushed his cheek. He picked it up without looking.
Let them laugh. Let them throw their crumbs. One day, I'll buy them all. One by one.
He went on until he couldn't anymore. When his legs gave out, he collapsed into a nearby alley, panting, his hands trembling.
— You've got talent, said a voice.
He shot upright.
An old man stood before him. White beard, red and gold robe, eyes tired but sharp.
— I saw you perform. You're not just a jester. You look like a man at war.
Ashen stared at him, wary.
— And you, what are you? A parlor mage come to laugh at the poor?
The old man smiled, amused.
— No. I'm Caldor. And I think you have something. A spark. A fire.
Ashen didn't answer.
Caldor crouched slowly.
— You don't look like you have a family. Or a bed. Or anything besides your will. Am I wrong?
Ashen looked away.
— What difference does it make?
— Maybe none. Maybe all the difference.
Silence.
The mage continued, softly:
— I teach magic to children from good families. But sometimes I take in others. When I see that look.
— What look?
— The look of someone who refuses to die.
Ashen trembled. He felt something in his throat. A warmth, a pain. He hadn't cried in... a long time. Too long.
— If I come, what do you expect from me?
— Nothing. I expect nothing. I offer you a roof. A meal. Some knowledge, if you want to learn.
— Why me?
— Because you're here. And because I haven't seen anything like you in a long time.
Ashen stood up slowly. He looked him straight in the eye.
— Alright.
The mage nodded, then held out his hand.
— Follow me.
They walked a long time through the streets of Edelstadt, without speaking. Ashen stumbled twice. Caldor said nothing. He didn't judge. He didn't rush him.
Finally, they arrived in front of a large stone house, with clear windows and slate roofs. A garden surrounded it. Two children came out, dressed in blue, carrying grimoires.
— This is the place.
They entered. The hall was vast, decorated with old rugs and shelves overflowing with books. The scent of warm wood and burnt parchment floated in the air.
— You can sleep here, said Caldor, showing him a simple but clean room. And tomorrow, if you want... I'll teach you to see what others cannot.
Ashen sat on the bed. He didn't know what to say. He felt empty. Tired. Lost.
Caldor closed the door.
And Ashen stayed there, alone, in a quiet room, for the first time in... maybe an eternity.
He placed a hand on his chest.
You don't know who I am. You know nothing. And maybe that's for the best.
He closed his eyes.
And slowly, for the first time in a very long while... he slept.