Jun is immersed in the narrow, cramped washroom, where thick, humid steam hangs in the air. Given the Bander family's modest means, the room offers no luxury—just a simple, aged wooden tub.
The walls are lined with dark, stained timber planks, and besides a rust-tinged metal towel rack tucked away in a corner, there is no other adornment.
The washroom's only source of light is the faint, dim glow of Mistveil's murky daytime sun, struggling to penetrate a small window covered with smoky-grey glass. The poor illumination casts only dull shadows through the vapour. The air carries a faint blend of soot and tar, and the dull brown bar of soap Jun is using is scentless, offering only a harsh, abrasive feel.
He leans back against the tub's wooden wall and closes his eyes, letting the heat soothe his tired muscles. In his mind, the events of the past few weeks begin to flicker and coalesce.
Suddenly, his thoughts snap back to the words Bander spoke the night before.
"There's a group of people called the 'Scouters' in this part of Mistveil. They pass through every three months or so, scouting the surrounding terrain. They aren't police who hunt criminals, but they say some of them possess Supernatural Powers... and some folks whisper that people with such strange abilities are terrifying and dangerous..."
Jun's hands clench against the rim of the tub. The warmth of the water no longer registers.
'Supernatural Powers...'
His heart begins to pound, less with fear and more with a ferocious burst of excitement. He is an accidental guest in this world. He desperately needs a thread, a source of power, anything that can lead him back to his Original World.
"These Scouters..."
Jun abruptly stands in the warm water, and the steam swirls away from his body. As his thoughts fixate on the Scouters, he glances absently at the small mirror in the corner of the room.
He wipes the condensation from the glass with his palm. The moment his reflection appears—
"What— What the hell is that!"
His voice echoes with raw panic off the wooden walls of the small space.
Jun presses closer to the mirror. His eyes... they are glowing with a deep, frigid violet light, like cold flames. A demonic luminescence surrounds his dark pupils, silent and intense.
"Impossible! This is completely impossible!"
He thrusts his fingers towards his eyes, checking them rapidly. They feel normal. There is no pain.
His heart hammers against his ribcage as if trying to tear free. He blinks rapidly, repeatedly. The chilling violet glow does not fade.
"Oh, My God! What kind of power is this!?"
He pulls away from the mirror and turns his back to it. Immediately, the violet light in his eyes flickers out, returning to their natural, mundane brown-grey hue.
The intense glow is gone. Jun sinks down onto a rust-flecked wooden bench next to the tub, his legs splayed out. His breathing is ragged.
He takes a deep, shaky breath and smooths his damp hair back with trembling fingers.
A wave of cold sweat washes over him. He stares intently at his own body.
"A rumour? Just a rumour, huh!" he scoffs, the word tasting like ash in his mouth.
"I'm part of the rumour Mr. Bander hears! I am one of those people!" Jun theorizes to himself, the shocking realization settling deep into his bones.
A strange mix of satisfaction and terror swells in his chest.
He is no longer just a mere human being. He is a dangerous power user.
A new objective solidifies in his mind. He has to understand this power. Control it. Exploit it. He feels, with grim certainty, that this very power, this creeping Madness, might be the only clue to his return.
"The Scouters... if they truly have power users among them..."
Jun's eyes shine. This time, not from fear, but from burning purpose. "I have to find them."
"To find out how I get this power, how I can return to my Original World... The Scouters hold everything I need to know!"
A cold, resolute smile forms on his face. It is the smile of someone who won't be a hero, but a Villain who will do anything to ensure his own survival.
Jun emerges from the washroom, clad in his dull brown trousers and long-sleeved white shirt. Water droplets from his damp hair trail onto his collar. In the kitchen, Bander is stoking the coals in the stove, stirring a pot of cheap coffee or strong tea.
Jun sits down, his eyes piercing as he looks at Bander.
"Mr. Bander," Jun begins, his voice more steady and firm than before. "I need more information about the 'Scouters' you mentioned last night. I need to find them."
Bander pauses, the stirring spoon hovering over the pot. The face of the fifty-something-year-old father is etched with deep lines of worry.
"Scouters? Why? You're an outsider. Messing with them is never a good thing, Jun. They're like the police, but much more secretive."
Jun meets Bander's gaze with unwavering intensity.
"I have my own reasons, Mr. Bander."
"If power users truly exist, I believe they might be able to help me with the things I've encountered recently, Mr. Bander... Please... tell me."
Bander sighs and hands Jun a crude earthenware mug.
"Alright. The Scouters are secretive, but they do have a kind of unofficial base."
Jun: "Where? Which part of Mistveil?"
Bander: "The Old Clock Tower area on the eastern edge of the city. Their informants tend to gather in those old buildings nearby. But be careful, Jun. You'll see things there that are far from pleasant."
Jun: "Their organization name? Are they powerful?"
Bander: "Nobody knows the exact name. Some call them the 'Watchers'. Powerful? Not really... they're just people operating outside the light of the government."
"Seeing a young man like you seeking danger reminds me of my son," Bander murmurs quietly.
Jun: "Then... Mr. Bander... what about your son?"
Bander: "He left for the Nadian Empire over a year ago." Bander swallows, as if tasting pain.
"My boy went to the Empire for hard labour just to help his family survive. They say Nadian is magnificent... but not everyone who goes there returns alive."
Bander's words—"Empire," "Nadian," "Danger"—pierce Jun's ears. For Jun, Bander's son is simply a potential key to the Empire, which might hold the information he needs to return home.
Jun: "Is the Nadian Empire the most powerful one in this world?"
Bander: "Yes. They say it's the brightest, the most innocent place. But there are other Empires too... Cities shrouded in darkness... It's best you don't know, Jun."
Jun sips the liquid in his mug slowly. His eyes reflect a fierce determination to delve into not only the Scouters but also the Nadian Empire and the other dark cities Bander speaks of.
The tale of Bander's son leaving for the Nadian Empire and the mention of other Empires fuels Jun's longing for a greater destination.
'Nadian Empire...' Jun sets the damp mug down and stands up.
"Thank you, Mr. Bander. The information you give me is vital."
"Where are you going, Jun?" Bander asks anxiously.
Jun has made a final, stubborn decision. His path is broader than the dark streets of Mistveil. The way back to his Original World lies only among the great Empires, the power users, and the secret organizations.
'The Nadian Empire is where I have to go... I must first find a path to the Empire!'
Jun stands in the small, dim room, checking his meagre supplies. His attire is simple, designed for fading into the shadows of Mistveil. Over his long-sleeved white shirt, he pulls on a dark-brown, knee-length greatcoat. The heavy garment, with its Gothic-style raised collar, offers essential protection against the town's pervasive damp and chill.
His tools are basic: a small, worn knife tucked into his waistband, a map of the district made from rough paper (stolen from a tavern), and the small coin purse Bander insisted on lending him.
Inside the purse are three heavy Iron Marks—coins made from a steel alloy and stamped on one side with the seal of The Grand Sunderheim Empire (an eagle or a sword).
The Grand Sunderheim Empire is an ancient, authoritarian Empire that rose rapidly in military might and magical power after the great Cataclysm. It issues the Iron Mark primarily for economic control.
His focus is not on the coin, however, but on the objective. The Scouters. The Empire. The way home.
He glances toward the Bander Walcroft family's living area. Bander is likely still in the kitchen, worried.
'Sorry, Mr. Bander. What they know is essential for my survival.'
Silently, Jun slips out of the house and onto the wet, cobblestone street.
The path to Mistveil's eastern edge is a descent into the town's forgotten history. Busy roads give way to narrow, winding alleys where the perpetual fog never seems to lift. The air grows heavier, thick with the smell of decay and stagnation.
As Jun presses on, the streets become eerily quiet.
The few people he encounters are haggard figures in slightly tattered robes. They studiously avoid his gaze, moving cautiously.
Finally, the silhouette of the Old Clock Tower rises above the rooftops—a black, crumbling sentinel. Its clock face is shattered, the hands frozen at a permanent, ominous time.
The area surrounding the tower is a graveyard of forgotten commerce. Abandoned workshops and warehouses with shattered windows line the street. Profound, unnatural silence reigns.
Jun stops, his eyes surveying the deserted area. Bander said their informants are in those old buildings nearby. But how to find a secret base among a dozen derelict structures?
He knows simple methods won't work. If the Scouters truly deal with the Supernatural, they won't hide behind a simple lock.
'They search for the abnormal. To find them, I must create the abnormal.'
Jun's mind, operates on logic. He needs a unique signal, something that will only attract the attention of the 'Watchers.'
He takes a slow, deep breath, focusing on the pervasive silence, a silence that means vigilance and observation.
His gaze fixes on the large, darkened warehouse directly across from the clock tower. He can sense it—not with his physical eyes, but with the chilling sensory awareness that comes with his terrifying new power.
He knows what he has to do. It is dangerous, perhaps insane, but necessary.
Jun deliberately places his foot on a pile of broken, wet slate on the street. With a sudden, quick kick, he sends the slate skittering across the cobblestones, shattering the silence with a sharp, unnatural clatter.
Then, he does what his dark instinct demands.
He opens his eyes, letting the deep, cold violet light pulse and seep out. He stands absolutely still, a silent, living lure. He isn't relying on sound; he is relying on fear. He gathers his entire consciousness, probing for any flicker of negative emotion or the chilling signature of someone watching.
A moment passes. Two moments.
Then, from one of the darkened windows of the warehouse, he feels it: a slight, almost imperceptible tremor of suspicion and low-level fear, followed by intense alarm.
Got you. Jun's lips curve into a cold, calculating smile. He immediately snaps his eyes shut, extinguishing the violet light, and then reopens them to their normal hue. The Scouters have noticed him. Now, he just has to wait for them to make their move.
Before the echo of the shattering slate can fully dissipate, the heavy, iron-reinforced door of the warehouse across the street creaks open.
Two figures emerge, clad in dark, heavy leather duster coats and wide-brimmed hats that obscure their faces. They look like hunters ready to face a great beast.
One holds a gas-powered lantern, casting a dim, flickering yellow light. The other carries a heavy, bolt-action rifle.
Their attention is locked on Jun. They are cautious, methodical, and clearly dangerous.
"You there! Stop right where you are!" the figure with the lantern calls out, their voice muffled.
Jun stands his ground, letting the heavy silence return. The adrenaline surges, not from fear, but from the realization that the game has officially begun.
Jun begins to speak, lifting his head slightly above his Gothic collar.
Jun: "Are you the Scouters? Or do you call yourselves the Watchers..."
His sentence is cut short. The hand of the rifleman, whose gaze is fixed on Jun's now-normal eyes, twitches. In his mind, he saw the brief, purple flare under the lamplight, a signature of danger. Their experience dictates that a normal human would not possess such eyes in the darkness.
The rifleman reacts without hesitation.
Fire!
The thunderous report rips apart the silent old city. A heavy slug from the rifle tears through the air, aimed straight at Jun's chest.
Jun's violet eyes flash with an urgent, primal reflex. His body instantly reacts with the new power's momentum. He spins sharply to the left, and the bullet misses his right arm by mere millimeters, striking the wall behind him with a fierce CRACK!
The wood splinters violently.
Jun is momentarily stunned by his own speed; in his perception, the bullet seems to move in slow motion.
Before his shock can fully subside, the rifleman moves with an unnatural, blinding swiftness. He appears instantly behind Jun's back, slamming the rifle barrel against Jun's temple and cocking the bolt.
Just as the Scouter is about to fire.
Scouter (Lantern): "Stop! Issac!"
The Scouter with the lantern yells. Jun, realizing the rifle is pressed against his skull, raises both hands into the air.
This is intentional. It is a clear, unambiguous signal to the two Scouters that he is not hostile.
The Lantern Scouter notices Jun's lack of malice, recognizing that his body language only shows defense. This prompts his shout.
Scouter (Lantern): "I said stop! He emits no hostile energy! He is only defending!"
The rifleman, Issac, hesitates, the muzzle of his rifle slightly lowering from Jun's chest to the ground.
Scouter (Lantern): "Who are you, boy? What was that with your eyes just now? Are you an Aethernal?"
His voice is a mix of caution, authority, and intense curiosity. He scrutinizes Jun with a searching stare.
Scouter (Lantern): "What do you want? Tell us immediately! Otherwise, we will decide to apprehend you right here!"
Jun keeps his right hand raised but uses his fingers to scratch the back of his head, letting out a slow, deliberate grin—the smirk of an idiot, a fool who holds a deadly secret.