The interior of rlin's cottage was quiet again.
The kind of quiet that wasn't peaceful — just empty. The kind that settled in around unfinished conversations, in rooms waiting for their occupants to rember how to live.
Helios stepped through the dark corridor, the cloak tucked under one arm. His boots thudded softly against the wooden floor. The scent of worn wood, aged parchnt, and incense still clung faintly to the air.
He found Alira where he'd left her — sitting in the chair near the hearth, unmoving, her gaze following the flicker of candlelight like she was trying to rember what it ant to feel warmth.
Helios didn't speak at first.
He simply walked over and placed the black cloak in her lap.
She stared at it.
"Wear this," he said. "Always. Over your clothes. Especially if we go outside."
She lifted the cloth in her hands. The weight of it was barely there, but the stitching shimred faintly under the candlelight — protection woven in subtle sigils, the shape of its hood deep enough to hide even her expression.
Alira didn't ask why. She didn't ask from what. She just nodded once, stood, and slipped the cloak around her shoulders.
As she wore it a strange feeling ca over her like a pull that had always been there faded. It fit like it had always belonged to her.
anwhile… Traverse Town. The sky hung like it always did midnight-colored and painted in drifting stars. The lamplight glowed gently against cobblestone streets slick with recent rain. There was no storm, just mist, and the scent of moisture clung to the alleys.
A boy lay in the center of an empty plaza — still, like a puppet without strings.
Then—
A breath.
His eyes snapped open.
Cold blue.
He stared up at the swirling sky, blinking once, twice. He sat up slowly, every movent deliberate, as though testing the shape of his body.
He was tall — broad-shouldered and well-built, but sothing about his posture made him look lighter than he should be. As though there was less inside than the body implied.
His hair was shorter than it had been in the life that ca before — cut in a modern undercut style, sides faded while the top swept to one side in pale, sandy gold. His bangs drifted just above his brows. His face was sharp, symtrical, but carried no warmth.
His outfit was modern, a fusion of past and present.
He wore a blue-gray bomber jacket, slightly armored at the shoulders and sleeves with a light sheen, a nod to the old conquistador tal. Beneath that, a fitted navy button-up shirt with silver threading at the collar and cuffs. His pants were a dark indigo, tucked into midnight boots with side buckles. The satchel remained — repurposed, leather worn but functional.
Gone was the musket.
Gone were the colors of empire.
What remained was a reflection — and a void.
The boy looked around. Buildings. Light posts. Shop signs. People in the distance.
But he felt… nothing.
Not confusion.
Not fear.
Not even curiosity.
Just emptiness.
He stood.
Behind him, a tiny voice called out, "Hey! You okay, kupo?"
He turned.
A Moogle waddled toward him — dressed not in a rchant vest, but in a three-piece Victorian-style waistcoat and a tiny gold pocket watch hanging from his chest strap. His wings fluttered slightly behind him, keeping the lantern he carried steady.
The boy stared.
The moogle tilted his head. "You're just lying there in the plaza, kupo. Look kinda out of it. You sick?"
The boy didn't answer.
"…Lost your voice?"
He blinked slowly, then shook his head.
The moogle's tiny eyes narrowed. "Hmm. Then why're you out here? Where's your family?"
No response.
"...You got a na?"
The boy hesitated.
Then shook his head again — this ti, yes. As in, no, I don't know.
The moogle blinked.
"Oh. Amnesia?" he said with a thoughtful "hmm." "Happens sotis with new ones. You're not the first to wake up here like that, kupo. Don't worry. You're not in danger."
The boy looked down at his hands.
They were his.
But they didn't feel like his.
The moogle looked him up and down. "You're calm. Real calm, actually. Kinda... too calm."
The boy blinked again, still showing no emotion.
"Well, look," the moogle said. "Na or not, you're gonna need sowhere to sit tight till your head clears. I can take you sowhere safe. I hope you won't mind my roommates."
The boy didn't speak.
But he nodded.
As they began walking, the moogle fluttered up beside him and tapped his arm.
"You're lucky I happened to be the one to walk by," he said cheerfully. "Traverse Town's got quiet spots, but that don't an it's empty. We do what we can but there are unsafe area here, kupo."
The boy looked toward the alleys.
Nothing stirred there. Not yet.
The moogle drifted closer.
"You feel strange, though," he muttered, half to himself. "Like you're not quite new. But not from anywhere familiar like the others either…"
He narrowed his eyes. "Wait a sec… you wouldn't happen to be connected to a guy nad Helios, would you? He's always walking around with strange people."
The boy tilted his head.
He didn't recognize the na.
Didn't react.
Just kept walking.
The moogle floated beside him in thoughtful silence.
"Guess not," he muttered. "But maybe later on soone will co looking for you."
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