The ride felt endless.
Leon lost track of how many minutes passed, the rhythmic clacking of hooves stretching into a blur, carrying them through a darkness that seemed almost too thick, too absolute. Only the red moon kept them company, its glow sliding in and out of view through the clear glass of the carriage window.
Eventually, the air changed.
He didn't know how else to explain it, only that some sort of quiet pressure had lifted from his chest. Even Madam Siera straightened slightly, tapping ash from her pipe as she took another puff, filling the carriage with another breath's worth of smoke.
"We're here," she announced, lifting herself from her seat slightly as the carriage slowed.
Wooden wheels rumbled over stone. Voices came from the outside, muffled, then clearer as the carriage came to a complete halt.
Leon blinked the drowsiness from his eyes as Madam Siera leaned forward and opened the small window beside the door. Cold air rushed inside, carrying the smell of soot, damp stone, and something metallic underneath.
Farim.
Leon recognised the air instantly, although his identity as Reynold had never been here, Leon had and that alone was enough for him to completely remember every nook and cranny of this city.
The city unfolded beyond the carriage, the towering Gothic walls, narrow iron bridges, and lanterns glowing a warm yellow along sharp rooftops. Everything felt old, ancient even, as though it had stood long before any of them were born.
People moved along the streets, workers hauling crates, and civilians walked past, illuminated by the glimmer of the moonlight.
Madam Siera flicked her chin toward the window.
"Welcome back to Farim, Leon. Try not to look so lost. It's making me feel like I dragged home a stray."
He didn't reply. He wasn't sure he could. His throat suddenly felt tight, stiff.
The carriage door creaked open.
Two men in coats waited for them. One stepped forward, his boots splashing in a shallow puddle as he leaned in to peer inside.
"Is that them?" the man asked.
"The only survivors," Madam Siera answered while stepping down gracefully, her coat swaying. "Careful with the girl. She overused her gunk."
Leon stood up, swaying a bit as the ground steadied under him. The city felt dull, with old Victorian architecture and the smell of oil lamps. It felt heavy, like the stone streets themselves remembered things he didn't.
The two men reached inside and gently lifted Valeta from her seat. Her head drooped against one man's chest, her breathing soft but steady.
"We'll take her straight to the resting quarters," one said.
"Good," Madam Siera replied, already turning. "Make sure the healers know her wraith balance is unstable."
Leon tensed. Wraith balance?
He watched Valeta's limp form being carried away into the nearest hallway leading off the main street. He wanted to say something, ask if she'd be okay, ask what that meant—but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
Madam Siera glanced back at him.
"Come along. You're not collapsing on me, too."
He followed her down a narrow path lit by lanterns. The street opened into a small plaza, and at its center stood the building she'd been talking about.
Entering the building, a warmth grazed his skin, a familiar warmth, a calm warmth, a soothing warmth.
They moved past barrels, shelves stacked with silver cartridges, and wall-mounted maps filled with pins.
Finally, they reached her office.
She flicked the lamp on.
The room smelled faintly of tobacco, perfume, and old parchment. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with thick tomes and glass containers. A desk sat near the far window, cluttered with papers, daggers, ink wells, and a cracked monocle resting on a cloth.
Madam Siera gestured for Leon to sit.
He obeyed hesitantly.
She pulled open a drawer and placed three glass jars on the desk.
Leon stiffened instantly.
Each jar held something murky and swirling inside, a gas? A shadow? No… It's more like a presence. He froze as thousands a brief flashes zip through his mind as though this body had experience with this sort of thing.
The shapes shifted with slow, unnatural motions as though peering back at him from under fog.
Wraiths. Leon's voice whispered in his mind; he twitched.
Just hearing the word in his mind unsettled him, but seeing them made his skin crawl.
"These," Siera said, tapping a fingernail lightly against one jar, "should belong to you."
"Belong?" Leon echoed, voice small as he repulsed at the moving goo in the jars.
She nodded, leaning forward with her elbows on the desk.
"When I trained your squad, you were the most capable with wraith absorption out of all the rookies. You had a knack for controlling them, taming them, even. That aptitude is the only reason you survived the cathedral incident."
Leon swallowed, a stream of saliva rolled down his throat.
"But," she continued, lifting the jar again, "whatever broke your soul also scattered nearly everything you'd built up. Your wraith registry was practically empty when I found you. These three were the ones you left behind before your expedition."
He stared at the jars. His breath fogged slightly as it hit the glass. Inside, shadows drifted along the inside surface as though drawn to him.
His fingers twitched.
"I want you," Siera said, sitting back in her chair, "to consume one."
His head jerked up.
"Consume…?"
"It might help restore a piece of what you lost. Memories, instincts, strength, there isn't much proof that it'll work, but past cases say it might, hopefully it doesn't differ from person to person. For someone with as fractured a soul as you, even a small bit could stabilize the gaps."
Leon's pulse hammered in his throat.
Madam Siera wasn't joking. Her eyes were cool, sharp, fixed on him like she was observing a specimen rather than a man.
"What happens," he said quietly, "if I refuse?"
"Nothing," she replied. "You'll just stay weak. Confused. Vulnerable. And considering the killer who destroyed your squad is still out there…" she shrugged, "I wouldn't recommend it."
A small eerie wind came in from the window, brushing the translucent curtains back… The candles flickered.
The jars trembled faintly, as if the wraiths inside reacted to his heartbeat.
Leon reached out, but stopped halfway.
"What if I lose myself and go insane?" he whispered.
Madam Siera's lips parted in something that resembled a tired smile.
"Mr. Hunter," she said softly, "you've already lost yourself; you won't go insane by consuming just a single wraith you had already tamed."
His hand hovered, shaking slightly.
He didn't know which jar to pick. Didn't know what each one meant. They all looked wrong, dangerous, unnatural, all similar to blobs of goo.
A jar on the far right, where the substance inside pulsed faintly like a heartbeat. It instantly caught his attention.
Madam Siera noticed his gaze.
"So… that one is calling to you, huh?"
Leon closed his hand around the jar.
It was cold. His fingers numbed.
The shadow inside surged toward the lid, reacting instantly to his touch.
Madam Siera folded her arms.
"Made your choice? Well then. Ready whenever you are."
Leon drew in a shaky breath.
Unscrewed the lid.
The jar exhaled.
A cold wind rushed into him.
And the world flipped.
Darkness swallowed him whole.