His grip found the inside of her upper arm, where the skin was soft and the flesh untrained. His hand was rough and strong, the warmth of it sudden and unwelcome.
The contact sent a jolt racing through her nerves, not of desire but of sharp discomfort and an old instinct that belonged to the boy who had never wanted to be handled roughly, especially not like this.
Her body reacted before her thoughts could catch up.
Her free hand flew up and struck his cheek.
The sound was clear and jarring in the quiet night.
Nova stared at her own hand as if it belonged to someone else.
Shock and fear twisted together in her chest. She was not strong enough to fight him. Even in her old body, she wouldn't have stood a chance, and now, wrapped in this delicate frame, she felt even less equipped.
But the idea of letting a man grip her like that, without warning or permission, had ripped through her with enough force to move her.
The man's face reddened where she had hit him. His jaw tightened, anger flashing briefly in his eyes.
Yet as he looked at her trembling shoulders, at the way she held the Umbrella like a shield, at the quality of her gown and the pale skin bared by her collar, something in his gaze shifted. The suspicion cooled. A different kind of understanding settled in its place.
He stepped back half a pace and bowed slightly.
"That was rude of me," he said. "I apologize. Tonight is dangerous. It is my duty to make sure anything wandering the streets is not a threat. But I should not have grabbed you without asking."
His words, though quietly spoken, carried a formal weight. Nova exhaled a little, the pulse in her throat easing. Duty. Patrol. Night of ghosts. It clicked together slowly in her mind. This man worked under some authority. He was not simply wandering for himself.
"Duty?" she echoed, her eyes flicking to the lantern he carried. The characters written on it glowed faintly, but she could not quite make them out from where she stood.
The man straightened his back again, his posture, which had momentarily softened, returning to crisp formality.
"I am Darius Fireheart, a demon hunter," he said, "responsible for the night patrol of Drakamor City tonight. I came out only after confirming the night parade had passed." He angled the lantern slightly. "May I ask the young lady's name?"
He had given not just a given name but a clan name as well. The politeness of it made it harder to ignore him.
Nova had hoped to slip through this world without tying herself to anyone, but she needed help, and this man might be her only thread to safety for now.
Yet she had no surname to offer.
The boy she had been had left his name somewhere behind the blank wall of her memory. Alice's true family name did not feel right to borrow. Her eyes dropped once more to where the mirror lay hidden against her waist.
A name surfaced in her mind like a reflection rising in water.
"Nova Mirror," she said softly.
The word "Mirror" tasted like copper and moonlight.
It held the weight of the mirror, of the face reflected within, and the silent promise she had made to herself: to guard that face, to protect this beauty from ruin in a world that did not belong to either of them. The mirror was the only way she could even see herself now. The only proof of who she had become.
Darius's eyes widened slightly. He repeated the name under his breath, as if testing its shape.
"A beautiful name," he murmured.
Nova did not respond to the compliment. Her expression remained guarded, the Umbrella still held between them.
Darius seemed to realize he had spoken too familiarly. He took another small step back and gave a more formal bow.
"Could it be that you are from the House Mirror of distant Stormspire City?" he asked.
"Yes," Nova answered before she could second-guess herself.
If the family he mentioned was in a far-off region, then the details likely wouldn't reach this city quickly, if at all.
In a world without modern communication, distance itself could act as a shield. Claiming that name here would buy her a place to stand, at least for now. She tucked that small advantage carefully away in her thoughts.
Darius frowned again, this time less in suspicion and more in concern.
"Why are you alone out on a night like this?" he asked. "Tonight is the fifteenth day of the seventh month. The night of the ghost festival. It is dangerous to walk here."
The fifteenth of the seventh… The words lodged in Nova's mind. So that was the date. That was the time she had dropped into. A festival of ghosts, and she had already walked through their parade.
She scrambled for a believable answer, but before she could form one, the ground vibrated faintly beneath her sandals.
She stilled.
That wind rose again, the same chill that had swept through the city when the hundred ghosts marched. It carried a strange, hollow pressure, as if something massive was moving through the air nearby.
Darius stiffened instantly.
"This is bad," he muttered. He seized the edge of her sleeve, but this time his grip was gentle and hurried rather than forceful, pulling her toward the shadow of a large willow by the roadside.
He reached into his pack and drew out a long, worn cloth covered in characters she couldn't read.
Without further explanation, he lifted it above both their heads and draped it down around them, forming a tent of faded fabric.
"What are you doing?" she whispered, more out of tension than anger now.
"Quiet," he whispered back. "As long as they do not look directly at us, this cloth will hide us."
The cloth smelled faintly of incense and old smoke. Its surface brushed against the top of Nova's Umbrella as she shifted closer to Darius, though she kept as much distance between their bodies as the cramped space allowed.
Through a narrow gap at the bottom edge, she could still see the street.
The fog gathered once more.
Something stepped out of it.
The creature that appeared was vast, far larger than the monsters she had seen earlier. Blue skin rippled over thick muscles. Two golden horns curved from its head, catching the lantern light with a dull metallic sheen. Each footfall landed with a weight that made the boards and stones shiver.
Darius's breath caught, barely audible. Sweat gleamed at his temple.
"That is a Skarn," he whispered, so low she almost didn't hear it. "And a large one…"
His fingers clenched around the cloth. Every line of his body screamed the desire to run and the knowledge that running was pointless. If this demon turned its gaze fully upon them, no cloth, no Umbrella, no name would save them.
Nova glanced sideways at him. He had called himself a warrior, a patrolman of the city, yet here he was crouching in the shadows with her, hoping to go unnoticed. Fear pricked her tongue into motion before caution could stop it.
"Aren't you supposed to be a demon hunter?" she murmured. "You see a demon and hide?"