The mont Rowan stepped back into his ho, he felt it.
The weight in the dark.
The quiet pressure that had lingered since he first crossed paths with Klein.
And then—
Gone.
Rowan allowed himself a faint smile.
So she’d finally looked away.
He had sensed the gaze from the beginning. It carried the texture of night itself. Calm. Vast. Heavy with divinity. It could only belong to the Goddess worshiped by Klein’s church.
When Klein had pulled him into the gray fog space, that gaze had vanished.
Which ant sothing important.
Even a god of this world could not see through that fog.
The gray space did not belong to the Night Goddess.
It belonged to sothing older.
Stronger.
And the fact that she had not interfered with Klein—despite clearly being aware of him—said even more.
If Klein truly possessed sothing on par with divine authority, and she had done nothing, then she either understood its origin...
Or feared the consequences of touching it.
Gods who survived multiple eras were not naive.
They did not ignore threats without reason.
As for Rowan himself?
In her eyes, he was likely just another anomaly. A man with unusual strength and a strange origin. Compared to the gray fog, he was insignificant.
That suited him perfectly.
If he had miscalculated—if she decided he was a threat—he already had contingencies.
He could pull Klein, Klein’s family, and even his own parents into his personal domain.
Inside his world, ti obeyed him.
He could freeze them there indefinitely. Resu it when the danger passed.
If worst ca to worst and he had to abandon this world entirely, he could shape a new one. Build a civilization. Accelerate it forward. Place them within it.
For them, it would feel like stepping into another modern life.
Hardly the worst outco.
Still, that was a contingency plan.
For now, things remained stable.
The next morning, life returned to normal rhythms.
Jack Barton buttoned his suit jacket and leaned down to kiss his wife, Chris, on the cheek before leaving for work.
He was employed at City Hall. Steady position. Respectable pay. Not extravagant, but comfortable.
Comfortable enough to live decently.
Not comfortable enough to buy their house outright.
The money for that had co from Jack’s late father, who had once worked in Backlund for a noble household. There were still faint connections there. If an investnt had paid off, Jack might have secured a transfer to the capital.
Better salary. Better prospects.
Instead, the investnt had turned out to be a scam.
Not only had their hoped-for fortune vanished, but even their remaining one hundred and fifty pounds had been wiped out.
So Jack went back to City Hall.
And they tightened their belts.
After tidying the house, Chris wheeled the baby carriage out for her usual morning walk.
She felt calr today. Jack had reassured her the night before.
Money could be earned again.
They still had each other.
As she turned down the street, a lively voice cut through the air.
"Step right up! One copper penny for a chance at our grand prize! One hundred and fifty pounds cash!"
A temporary stall had been set up ahead. A small crowd gathered around, scratching tickets and laughing.
Normally, Chris might have spent a penny or two. It was harmless fun. Maybe win a stuffed toy.
But today?
Not a chance.
They had just lost one hundred and fifty pounds.
She pushed the carriage past.
"Special offer! Mothers with children get one free draw!"
Chris slowed.
Free.
She hesitated.
From inside the carriage, Rowan suddenly began waving his hands enthusiastically, letting out delighted babbles while pointing toward the stall.
Chris laughed.
"Seems my little one wants to try."
She turned the carriage around.
The stall owner’s eyes lit up the mont he saw her approach.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. More like a dockyard enforcer than a street vendor.
"Care to try, ma’am? First draw’s free for mothers."
Chris blinked at him.
He didn’t look like a lottery man.
"Can my baby pick?" she asked.
"Of course."
He produced a stack of marked tickets and lowered them toward the carriage.
Rowan flailed his tiny hands dramatically, batting one loose.
Chris bent down, picked it up, and scratched it without expectation.
She wasn’t thinking about grand prizes.
A stuffed bear would be enough.
She stared at the ticket.
Then stared harder.
"First prize."
The stall owner raised his voice instantly.
"First prize! One hundred and fifty pounds! Congratulations!"
He swept the remaining tickets off the board and, without hesitation, produced a prepared envelope from beneath the counter.
One hundred and fifty pounds.
Placed directly into Chris’s trembling hands.
"I... I won?" she whispered.
"I won one hundred and fifty pounds..."
She looked ready to faint.
Inside the carriage, Rowan glanced up at the stall owner and gave him a subtle thumbs-up.
The man—who had once stood alongside Swain in battle against a rampaging monster—grinned broadly in return.
Clean white teeth flashing.
The debt was repaid.
Quietly.
Neatly.
Without leaving a trace.
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