A lot had happened since Luke crossed the gate from the Wild Zone into the new region of the tutorial. There, he uncovered secrets that rewrote his understanding of the world—truths about the capital, about the land itself, and even about the nature of the place he and the other survivors had been thrown into. He'd also faced threats so overwhelming that, now, even a Midnight Warden felt like just another beast.

Months had passed. Where others might have broken under the weight of what they'd seen, Luke endured. Every hardship became fuel. Every loss, a lesson. Alone, under-leveled and unequipped for the horrors of the new region, he managed not only to survive—but to grow stronger. Much stronger.

Now, he wasn't in that new place. It had been a long time since he crossed the gate. Luke had returned to the Wild Zone—to finish what he started. Armed with new skills, powerful items, and power earned through pain, he was back to complete his mission.

He glanced around and exhaled softly.

He stood near the wall, deep in the Wild Zone, inside a hideout that didn't belong to him. Technically, he was just a guest—or as its owner preferred to say, a "visitor." The word made him chuckle, thinking of Kalysto and her peculiar way of labeling people.

The hideout was buried underground, concealed within a shaft that linked to the dungeon network inside the wall. It was small, dimly lit by torches, and carefully converted into a modest living space. A bed, some shelves, and practical touches gave the room warmth. Clothes hung from hooks on the wall. A spatial chest sat in the corner. Wigs, sewing tools, and scraps of fabric were scattered across the surfaces—clear signs of who this place really belonged to.

The shaft above—once the only entrance—was now completely blocked by rubble, beams, and collapsed stone. No one could get in or out that way anymore. No one except him and the hideout's owner. Both possessed skills that allowed them to shift into a near-ethereal state, slipping through gaps no physical body could pass.

Luke opened his system interface and gave a low whistle.

"A lot's changed since I started this journey," he muttered, eyes scanning the new stats.

There was a whole new list of skills. New class skills. Advanced levels—and a few other surprises. While his attention lingered on one particular item in his inventory, something powerful and recent, movement caught his eye.

Can't believe I actually have this item.

From a crack in the wall leading to the shaft, a shadow began to form. That thin trail of darkness slithered across the floor until, gradually, a woman emerged from it.

"So, anything new?" he asked.

"No. Your friend's still locked up," she replied.

"Damn it..."

The woman was Evangeline—the owner of the hideout.

"If we activate the second mechanism and Bartholomew finds out, I doubt he'll let a healer side with us. Even if it means locking your friend up inside the fortress. For now, he's still in the same place where you were interrogated. Best to wait and see if they release him in a few days," she said.

Luke sighed. There was nothing he could do at the moment.

Maybe I could ask Eleanor for a favor?

For a moment, her image surfaced in his mind.

No. Better not. I already owe her too much.

"I told Jerry to keep watch on the place," she said. "If anything weird happens or your friend gets released, the crow will come warn us."

"And how exactly are you supposed to know the crow arrived? It's not like he can open the well door, much less fly through rubble," Luke said.

She walked casually across the room, pulling off a wig. "When you have a familiar, you share a bond. I'd know if he were nearby."

Luke didn't have that kind of connection with Charlie. The closest thing he had was the system interface—if she moved too far away, her status screen would freeze in grayscale, stuck on the last update. And even when she got close again, he had to look directly at her for it to refresh.

"How did you even get a familiar?" he asked.

"It was in the dungeon beneath the wall," she replied. "I faced a swarm of zombie crows. When I killed the alpha, it left behind a familiar rune. All I had to do was tell it to break the rune—and it did. That sealed the friendship pact."

"Wait, it was that easy? You just told it to break the rune and the familiar accepted?"

"Yep. I mean, think about it—if you were a magic beast, would you want to spend eternity trapped in a rock? No one's dumb enough to choose that."

Luke glanced toward the storage dimension inside his necklace. Floating within it was a black stone.

Yeah... someone was dumb enough.

'I agree,' Artemis said in her thoughts.

The stone flickered with light, and the faint outline of the creature inside briefly took shape.

Luke turned back to Evangeline. "So how does a familiar's power work? Do they level up or anything like that?"

"Jerry showed up to me as Rank F, with a few of his race skills. But he's not like us—no class or profession. Just innate skills."

"Makes sense," Luke said.

He walked toward the table. Truth was, he felt anxious, though he hadn't realized it until now. The fact that Allison and the others had gone after the Orc Lord caught him off guard. That had been his plan. He didn't expect anyone else to act on it before him. Something about it felt unresolved—like a story he was supposed to finish. But he shook that thought away. After all, he had already surpassed Morvat.

"Think Allison and the others are gonna take long to get here?" Luke asked.

"I've been waiting years to activate that second mechanism. Trust me, I'm the impatient one."

"Why didn't you go with them to fight the Orc Lord?" he asked.

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"Take a wild guess. I was the one stuck keeping watch near the Safe Zone with Jerry in case you needed backup," she said, staring at him.

"You could've just told me."

"Would you have believed me? Trusted me? Besides, Allison wasn't even around when you came back from the other side of the tutorial. She was still out on an expedition along the wall. That left me. Basically just me, available to keep an eye on you. But you decided to become a damn lumberjack instead..." she muttered.

Evangeline stepped closer. "Still, you did contribute. The chaos you caused by opening that gate, then vanishing and coming back months later throwing everything into disarray—that forced Bartholomew to focus entirely on hunting you down. It gave the Haven a rare window to move without being spied on. Most people over there want you dead anyway, which basically makes them Bartholomew's allies. So... nice work," she said, giving him a playful smack on the shoulder.

Luke ignored the sarcasm in her voice.

"Maybe it's because you want the others to get stronger on their own," Luke said, "level up without help while you watch Bartholomew and his soldiers closely, just so they don't mess with your plan."

"Maybe," she replied.

Luke began setting the table.

"What the hell is this?" she asked, staring at what he was doing.

"Like it?" he said.

He finished serving.

"It's pasta. Took a lot of effort, but I pulled it off. I used ingredients we had—stuff from the loot chests. I made the dough myself, cut it into thin strips. The sauce? I used tomatoes I grew myself, plus some vegetables. The meatballs are from boar meat I'd stored away. And that sauce there's got sausage in it—yeah, from the cans. This pasta here has cheese in it. I made a batch using some of the cheese we picked up."

Luke grabbed another dish. "And this is lasagna. Pretty much like the pasta, but layered. I made béchamel with flour, butter, and milk. Classic Bolognese sauce. It's the real thing."

He sat down. "Help yourself."

Evangeline stared at the food, wide-eyed. Then at Luke.

"What?" he asked.

"What the hell did you do, Luke? You know how to cook? Like, really cook?" she said, sitting down across from him.

Luke scooped a piece of lasagna onto her plate and handed it to her.

"It's real lasagna!" she said, stunned.

"What? Don't you know how to cook?"

"Does throwing monster meat into a fire and waiting for it to char count as cooking?" she asked.

"I don't think it does…"

Evangeline stabbed a piece of lasagna with her fork and took a bite. Her eyes closed for a moment.

"It is real lasagna," she said.

"Of course it is. Why wouldn't it be?"

She glanced around the room, then back at the table. "Is this what I think it is? Did you finally fall for my charms and cook me a romantic dinner?"

Luke didn't respond.

"But come on, look at this. The food, the setup—there are even candles. This totally looks like a romantic dinner."

"With you? The candles would be more appropriate for a blood ritual."

"Haha," she said flatly.

"It's just regular food," Luke said.

She took another big bite of the lasagna. "I haven't eaten anything like this in years."

"Wait, you've been raiding chests full of ingredients and resources. What did you do with all that stuff?" he asked.

"I heated up canned food. And ate it."

Luke looked at her, horrified. "You didn't cook? You just ate the canned stuff, as-is?"

"Yup."

"Oh my god…" he muttered.

Evangeline took another bite. "Luke, you'd make an excellent wife."

'See? I told you,' Artemis chimed in his thoughts. 'You've got wife potential. Now give me more food!'

I already fed you before she got here. Wait your turn, he replied internally.

He ignored Artemis's whining and kept eating.

"You can't just live off canned food," he said. "You need to make actual meals. Balance nutrients and everything."

"Sorry, Grandma. I lived on the street. I barely learned how to cook anything," she said, still eating.

"And then you stayed in this place for eight years, with access to all kinds of supplies. There's a tavern in Bastion. There are people who sell food—even if it's limited."

She kept eating, ignoring him.

"Who taught you to cook?" she asked.

He looked down at the pasta, and a memory surfaced.

At first, he wanted to shove it deep into his mind and forget it existed. But the truth was that making something as simple as that plate of pasta had made it impossible to keep pretending—pretending that part of him hadn't been screaming quietly for months.

"I learned to cook for..." he paused. Talking about them wasn't easy. "I have a little sister. She's six years old. Her name's Lillian. And in the last few years, Clara started—"

"Clara?" Evangeline interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

"She's my adoptive mom," he said.

She glanced at him, then back at her plate. She didn't press further.

"Go on," she said.

"Clara started working more at my adoptive dad's office. He's a lawyer. His old partner passed away, so now there's a ton of paperwork, a ton of cases. She likes meeting with potential clients—hearing their stories—before passing them off to my dad. So I started helping around the house. I learned to cook. She gets home early most days, but I still liked having food ready for her. And I didn't want my little sister eating junk all the time. So I taught myself."

Evangeline looked up. "Huh... I'm impressed. So behind all that grumpy, cold-hearted behavior... there's actually a thoughtful big brother? Who would've guessed," she teased.

Luke twirled some pasta onto his fork and took a bite.

The truth was, after hearing the full plan, adding his input, and helping shape the final strategy—he knew there was no going back. Once everyone arrived and the second mechanism was activated, it would be like stepping off a waterfall. No more calm. Only days spent walking alongside death. Days without sleep. A wave of events and consequences that would drag him out into the current like the open sea.

That's why he made the pasta. Why he made the lasagna—his sister's favorite dish. Because this felt like the last moment of peace.

He didn't know if he'd survive the storm that was coming. This quiet dinner wasn't just a break from chaos. It was a farewell. To himself. Because there wouldn't be time for things like this again.

Just as he placed another bite of pasta into his mouth, a loud knock echoed through the room. He and Evangeline locked eyes.

"They're knocking on the well hatch!" she said, jumping to her feet. "They're here!"

She dissolved into shadow and slipped through the narrow opening, passing straight through the rubble.

Luke stared at the space she'd vanished through.

He took a deep breath.

"The storm's here," he whispered.

Then he dissolved—becoming mist—and slipped into the narrow shaft. He floated upward, passing through the rubble piece by piece, weaving through tight spaces no wider than a needle's eye. What should've been a simple ascent stretched into something long, almost endless. And yet, with every inch, his heart—his soul—pounded louder.

Because he was climbing into a spiral of events from which there would be no return.

At the top, voices filtered in—faint chatter, the scuff of movement, even laughter. He pressed forward, slipping through the final cracks in the debris. The mist thickened, condensed... and Luke began to take shape once more.

He stepped out of the well.

A crowd was waiting.

Dozens of Haven members stood in a loose semicircle, every pair of eyes locked on him.

"What the hell is he doing here?" someone shouted, their voice sharp with anger.

But then, parting through the crowd, a familiar face appeared.

It was Allison.

"Hello, Allison," he said, his voice calm, seeing her again after all those months.

"Hello, Luke," she said as she stepped forward.

Then, without warning, she drew a blade and pressed it to his throat.

Luke flinched, instinctively trying to step back—but a hand grabbed his arm.

It was Evangeline.

"He can't turn into mist if someone's touching him," she said quietly. "Same rule applies to me when I'm using shadows."

"Restrain him," Allison ordered.

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