The morning sun hit the town of Nairn with a clarity that felt almost apologetic for the gloom of the previous day.
Lencar Abarame woke up before his internal clock could even tick over to 06:00. He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the crushing weight of guilt to settle on his chest like it had yesterday. He waited for the smell of burning flesh to fill his nose, for the nausea to roll in.
It didn't come.
Instead, he felt... light. The conversation with Rebecca the night before had acted like a cauterizing iron. It hadn't healed the wound, but it had stopped the bleeding. She had given him the permission he didn't know he needed: the permission to be the monster so that others could remain human.
"Right," Lencar whispered, throwing the covers off. "Back to the grind."
He dressed quickly, splashing cold water on his face. The reflection in the mirror looked less like a ghost today and more like a young man with a plan. The dark circles under his eyes had faded.
When he walked out into the kitchen, Rebecca was already there, bouncing baby Noah on her hip while stirring a pot of porridge. She looked up, her eyes scanning his face instantly, searching for the cracks she had seen yesterday.
"Morning," Lencar said, flashing a smile that actually reached his eyes. "Need help with the stirring? Or are we going for the 'lumpy texture' today?"
Rebecca let out a breath she seemed to have been holding since last night. A genuine smile broke across her face. "You're awake. And you're snarky. That's a good sign."
"I slept like a rock," Lencar said, taking the wooden spoon from her. "Thanks... for talking. It helped."
"I'm just glad you're back," she said softly. "Gorn was threatening to close the shop if his star peeler didn't recover."
"Can't have that."
The walk to "The Rusty Spoon" was energetic. Marco ran ahead, chasing a stray cat, while Lencar and Rebecca walked with Luca. The air felt crisp. Lencar breathed it in, savoring the mundane scent of baking bread and horse manure. It was life. It was messy and loud and real, and he was going to protect it.
When they entered the restaurant, Gorn looked up from the register with the expression of a man facing a firing squad. When he saw Lencar, his face crumpled in relief.
"Sweet Mana, you're alive!" Gorn shouted, rushing around the counter to slap Lencar on the back. "You looked like a walking corpse yesterday, lad. I thought I was going to have to hire the Miller twins, and you know they can't chop an onion without crying for an hour."
"I'm fine, boss," Lencar laughed, tying on his apron. "Just needed a reset. I'm ready to work."
"Good! Because the lunch rush is going to be murder. We've got a merchant caravan from Kikka coming through."
And work he did.
Lencar moved through the kitchen with a renewed vigor that bordered on athletic. He wasn't just efficient today; he was inspired. He chopped vegetables with a rhythm that sounded like a drumbeat. He tossed pans, caught spices mid-air, and plated dishes with a flourish.
He wasn't spacing out. He wasn't seeing fire in the carrots or blood in the tomato sauce. He was seeing ingredients. He was seeing the smile on a customer's face when they took the first bite.
"Order up!" Lencar called, sliding three plates onto the pass.
"You're on fire today, Lencar!" a waitress yelled, grabbing the plates.
Lencar paused for a microsecond at the word fire, but then he pushed past it. "Just making up for lost time," he replied smoothly.
Throughout the day, Rebecca watched him. He caught her glancing at him from the stove, a look of quiet reassurance on her face. She saw that he was stable. The darkness was still there—she wasn't naive enough to think it had vanished—but he was carrying it now, rather than being crushed by it.
By the time the sun began to dip and the "Closed" sign was flipped, the team was exhausted but high on the success of a perfect service.
"Great work, everyone!" Gorn cheered, wiping sweat from his brow. "Lencar, you saved us. Go home. Get some rest. You've earned it."
"Thanks, Gorn," Lencar said.
They walked home under the twilight sky. Luca, who had come to meet them, held Rebecca's hand. Lencar walked a step behind, watching them.
This is the baseline, he thought. This is what I fight for. And tonight, I fight for the supply lines.
Dinner was a loud affair with the kids. Lencar ate heartily, the food tasting like food again. After dinner, instead of retreating into his shell, he sat on the rug.
"Okay," Lencar announced. "Who wants to hear the story of the Knight who fought the Giant Jellyfish?"
"Me! Me!" Marco and Pem screamed.
He told the story with gusto, doing voices and sound effects, making the kids shriek with laughter. He exhausted them thoroughly, ensuring a deep sleep.
"Alright, show's over," Lencar said, standing up. "Bedtime."
"Awww," the chorus rang out.
"Go on," Rebecca ushered them away. She turned to Lencar. "You should sleep too. Don't overdo it."
"I'm just going to clean up," Lencar said, gesturing to the mountain of dishes. "It relaxes me."
"Okay. Goodnight, Lencar."
"Goodnight, Rebecca."
She went to her room. Lencar waited until he heard her door click shut.
He turned to the sink. He didn't use a sponge.
He raised his left hand, channeling a thin stream of [Water Magic] (harvested from the Mud Dogs). The water swirled out of the basin, forming a floating sphere. He raised his right hand, channeling [Wind Magic]. The air spun the water, creating a miniature centrifuge.
He levitated the plates into the sphere. The water and wind scoured them clean in seconds, removing grease and crumbs with surgical precision.
It was a small display of power, mundane and domestic, but it centered him. It reminded him that magic wasn't just for killing. It was a tool.
He dried the plates with a warm breeze and stacked them silently.
Then, the domesticity ended.
Lencar walked to his room. He locked the door. He checked the window to ensure the street was empty.
He tapped the silver ring on his finger.
[Void Vault]: Open.
He pulled out the black cloak and the wooden mask. They felt heavy in his hands, imbued with the memory of the forest, but he put them on without hesitation.
He pulled out the dossier he had bought from Jareth.
Target: Garrick the Smuggler.
Location: The River Tero, heading toward the Common Realm border.
Threat: Water Magic, Curse Magic, Mercenary Crew.
Lencar spread the map of the Clover Kingdom on his desk. He traced the blue line of the river. Based on the current, the wind speed, and the departure time Jareth had provided, Garrick's ship should be anchored near the sleepy trading post of Oakhaven.
"About a hour," Lencar whispered.
He closed his eyes. He visualized the coordinates.
[Spatial Magic]: [Long-Range Coordinate Shift].
The room in Nairn vanished. The smell of clean dishes was replaced by the scent of river mud and night-blooming jasmine.
The room in Nairn vanished. The smell of clean dishes was replaced by the scent of river mud and night-blooming jasmine.
Lencar reappeared on a high branch of a tree overlooking the riverbank. The wind rustled his cloak. Below him, the dark water of the River Tero moved sluggishly, reflecting the crescent moon.
"Time to go fishing," Lencar thought, his eyes turning cold behind the mask.