Lacerta opened his eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling. It wasn't the familiar wooden beams of any room he's woken up in to this point, but something far more grandiose. The ornate plasterwork reminded him of a noble's house he'd visited once, before... well, before everything that had happened.
???: ["Ah, so you're awake."]
Lacerta's head snapped toward the voice. Any flicker of surprise was extinguished instantly. This was clearly a place of power if it was where he believed he was currently located. And only a fool would wander in without purpose.
And if they had ill will, why waste it on a random, unconscious boy? The logic simply didn't track.
Furrowing his brows, Lacerta quickly began to speak.
Lacerta: ["Who… are you?"]
It was a valid question. A man was sitting in a wooden chair right next to his bed, watching him with no book or distraction in sight. Had he just been staring?
The man pouted and crossed his arms.
???: ["Hmph. And after all I went through to escape that place? I almost lost my head to that angry redhead, you know. Calming him down was a real ordeal."]
Lacerta blinked, the pieces clicking into place.
Lacerta: ["Ah, so you're—"]
Spoon: ["Your best assassin buddy of course!"]
The man said, finishing the sentence with a flourish. Of course, it was Spoon.
The reason Lacerta didn't recognize him was simple: he'd never seen Spoon's face without the mask up until this point. Dark green hair framed a surprisingly young face with matching eyes and a placid expression—a far cry from Rusk's middle-aged weariness.
Lacerta: ["Well. Thanks, I suppose."]
Spoon raised an eyebrow.
Spoon: ["'Thanks' for what, exactly? I certainly didn't help you in that fight against Dardain. Very well done, by the way. It would have been terribly awkward if you died after I'd talked you up so much."]
Lacerta just shrugged, pushing himself upright against the headboard.
Lacerta: ["Thanks for not, you know… killing me in my sleep. Assassins do that sort of thing, right?"]
A smirk played on Spoon's lips.
Spoon: ["True. But why would I kill my best investment? I bet my life on you, after all. Killing you now would just be rude."]
Lacerta raised a curious brow, a silent gesture for him to continue.
Spoon: ["Every assassin under Dardain's thumb was known to him. I could have tried to flee, I suppose, but the idea of being hunted for the rest of my life didn't appeal. So, I bet everything I had on you. All or nothing—freedom or death!"]
Spoon extended an open palm and clenched it into a dramatic fist.
Lacerta watched the gesture with a blank expression.
Is it any surprise that a man like Dardain would hunt down his own followers for daring to leave? Of course it isn't. This act of petty vengeance doesn't just defy leadership—it defines his disgraceful character.
Lacerta: ["I see."]
He held Spoon's smiling gaze for a few seconds before the awkwardness became too much and he looked away.
It was only then that he noticed what he should have from the start. His body was covered in bandages, wrapping his arms, torso, and legs. Reminders of the injuries he'd taken near the end of the fight with Dardain—the ones that hadn't healed before he passed out.
Lacerta: ["Did you do this?"]
Spoon glanced at the bandages, shaking his head.
Spoon: ["No, no. I believe that was your friend. Rusk, was it?"]
Lacerta just shook his head. He appreciated the sentiment, but the bandages were unnecessary. He didn't know exactly when, but once he regained enough stamina, his body likely had just healed the wounds on their own.
Of course, Rusk couldn't have known that so Lacerta couldn't fault him for trying to help.
Sliding out of bed, Lacerta instantly let out a breath and reached up to the bandages concealing his upper-body, tearing them off and throwing them aside.
Spoon: ["Are you really sure you should be——"]
Upon seeing the absurd sight that was Lacerta's body no longer damaged in the slightest, Spoon's expression became somewhat shocked—likely the closest to being stunned that Lacerta had seen from the assassin, even before he started wearing that mask.
Retrieving the clothes that were off to the side, neatly folded up for him, Lacerta quickly began to put them on.
Spoon: ["Well now... you're certainly not like the usual lot, are you? I suppose I should get used to abnormalities if I'm with you then."]
Lacerta raised a brow as he slid on the final parts of clothing, rather surprised that the black fabric fitted him surprisingly well. It was also... unsettlingly familiar, as if this black fabric had been made for him, a thought that prickled at the edges of his awareness.
Lacerta: ["My katana...."]
Lacerta began to quickly look around, his otherworldly senses straining, feeling the faint vibrations of the floorboards, the subtle shift in air currents, cataloging every surface in the room in a desperate search for the familiar weight of his sword.
Spoon: ["Right here."]
Extending out the sheathed katana toward Lacerta, the black-haired boy took it with a nod of appreciation.
Spoon: ["I guess I made the right choice picking it up after all that chaos started happening."]
Lacerta: ["—Chaos?"]
Nodding, Spoon continued—walking off to the side as he did so before leaning, sitting on the edge of a desk before wagging a finger up.
Spoon: ["Not too long after you passed out, the first thing your red-haired friend did was check if you were alright, then quickly freed the silver-eyed traitor—"]
Lacerta's brows drew together, a flicker of unease crossing his features. He was in the same predicament as Caro now though. Former feast member gone traitor.
Spoon: ["—right after, the entire cavern began to fall apart, so I picked up that sword while the red-head carried both unconscious bodies to save us all from getting flattened."]
Lacerta's gaze darkened slightly, something that was instantly picked up on by Spoon who raised an eyebrow.
Lacerta: ["I see.... thank you. I'd have probably been even more angry if I lost this too."]
He muttered, glaring down toward the sheathed weapon which he half unveiled.
The katana's edge, once a mirror to the world, was now strangely dull, as if its very essence had been leached away. A network of fine, hairline cracks, like shattered glass, spiderwebbed across the blackened metal. In all likelihood, he wouldn't be able to swing it with even a handful of his more casual swings, lest he wanted the blade to shatter.
But he wouldn't. Not to Glenn. The memory of the purchase, the quiet pride on his guide... his... friends? face after handing him the coin was a tether he wouldn't break, not even with a blade threatening to disintegrate in his hands.
But didn't this also mean....
It likely did. But he had to take that up with Rusk of all people.
Spoon leaned into his personal space, his voice a cheerful chirp considering Lacerta's current thought process.
Spoon: ["I heard that frowning gives you permanent grumpy-lines before you even become old! So come on... smiiiiile... smiiile~!"]
A low growl rumbled in Lacerta's chest. He turned, peeling his lips back from his fangs into what became an absolute mockery of a smile. The effect was instantaneous—even Spoon recoiled, his own cheerful expression vanishing into a frown.
Spoon: ["Okay, wow. On second thought, maybe not that smile. But hey, we can work on it."]
Lacerta just gave him a deadpan as he reached for the door handle.