If Niko's fishing village had changed little without Simon's intervention, then Ionar itself hadn't changed at all. He arrived shortly before morning and stayed that first night in the first common room he could find that didn't have a locked door.

After that, he stayed at the inn only long enough to have a quality Ionian toga fitted, then he went door to door in the upper city offering his services as a painter and maker of mosaics in the search for a place to lay his head for the evening.

This didn't go as well as it might have since he couldn't point out any public works that these potential patrons might have been able to see with their own eyes in any of the northern cities. Barring a real portfolio, he showed the sketchbook he'd made of the art he'd painted in a previous life, and when paired with lies about his accomplishments in faraway places like Brin, he eventually found someone with a vanity project they wanted him to accomplish.

Master Strigeon was getting on in years and wanted a mosaic for his grandchildren to remember him by. The work was not creative, but for once, Simon didn't really care what the project was. He just needed something to do that kept him close to the volcano and away from the Queen.

The man wanted an image that was flattering to the point of parody, but Simon only made the revisions to the sketch that the man requested and then got to work. He might be an artist, but then, this wasn't art. It was a cover story, and Simon treated it with a zen sort of patience. Besides the fact that the thing could last forever, that was the real advantage of mosaics over other art forms like painting.

Once he decided what the final work should look like, he had to spend a great deal of time fetching new tiles from ceramic shops, breaking them just so, and then cementing them into place. That gave him all the time in the world to think, but strangely, he didn't waste that on the doom that loomed over him on a daily basis or even the city that constantly surrounded him.

Simon had so many lifetimes tied up in both, but instead of bothering with either, he instead focused on the nature of the world and his sight, or lack thereof. He didn't regret killing the bandits or even using magic, but he did want to see the world again the way he had for so long, so he spent an inordinate amount of time contemplating his soul and the world around him as he fumbled toward a solution.

How can I solve something that I don't understand? Simon asked himself fairly often as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months.

He couldn't, of course, so he didn't beat himself up over it. He just made steady progress on his employer's mosaic, ate well, meditated often, and occasionally took dips in the sea. Occasionally, he did other things, like ponder how he might siphon off all the energy in this eruption to power some truly titanic work of magic or how he might use mosaics to create beautiful and nearly invisible works of art with precisely shaped tiles.

Other than working or trying to restore his sight, though, the thing that Simon did most frequently was to paint. Something about the lack of art in his current task required him to paint sunsets or the city in watercolor just to feel like he wasn't a complete fraud.

Simon painted these purely for his own enjoyment and was quite surprised when the habit started to draw an audience of interested parties from onlookers who started offering him money for the paintings and even more for lessons on how to paint like that. He did so, but more for the recognition than the money. He already had as many coins as he could comfortably carry when the time came to go through the next portal.

Instead, he took to donating the proceeds to lower-city healers so that they could do more charity work. That made him feel better about himself and seemed to help his experience score, but it did nothing to dull the pain in his heart whenever he looked at the palace and the royal gardens where he'd spent so much time with his son so long ago.

Of course, this time, Simon was smart about it, and he donated the funds on the condition they tell no one where the money came from. He didn't have any orphanages named after him in the current events of the world, and he had no desire to change that.

I need to try to keep a lower profile this time, he told himself. Fortunately, just this once, that wasn't such a hard promise to keep, and nothing he did managed to attract the attention of anyone more important than wealthy aristocrats as the days slowly ticked down.

It was a simple enough life, and after six months, the first ghostly outlines started to return, showing that he was making progress on what really mattered. That was a relief, and after he got that far, he stopped worrying about it so much. Part of him had been convinced that it was a skill that would take decades to recover, but until he actually did, he had no way to know.

After eight months, Simon finished his patron's vainglorious art project and attended a party to show it to his peers. Despite his misgivings, the product was quite nice, and many other families wanted Simon to work on something for them next. He was running out of time, though, so unfortunately, he had to turn them down. As much as he would have loved to start something new and potentially more interesting, he would have hated to leave something half-done even more, and there was no way that he was staying here longer than he had to.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

He was more tempted to go visit Niko again, but it would have broken his heart to find him out there killing people again, so Simon opted not to. Instead, he reminded himself that he was here to stop an eruption and then go to level 12 and fight a bridge troll. That was it. For once, things are nice and simple. I'm going to solve things right without leaving new problems in my wake.

When the eruption finally arrived, it actually took him by surprise. Simon's stay with the Strigeon household became a relaxed, unhurried thing, and though they were in no hurry to remove such a prestigious and honored guest, he had nothing he had to do on any given day and soon became more than a little lazy. Not so lazy that he was as indolent as the nobles he was surrounded with, of course. His pride couldn't bear such a thing.

Still, he became less productive than he had in years. He would spend his mornings painting or down in the lower city helping at the now very well-financed public clinic or the orphanage. He especially enjoyed that latter one and spent a lot of time teaching kids the basics of reading, just for something to do.

The mornings really didn't matter, though. He knew from experience that when the volcano erupted, it would be in the afternoon, so he made sure to be back at the mansion that was his current home every day from midday to sunset so he could go at a moment's notice. It was only then, when the danger had passed that he allowed himself to drink and paint or read. He even started experimenting with aura paintings, trying to capture the feeling of someone based on their surrounding glow rather than their actual details, with mixed results.

Still, one day, the thing erupted, and he instantly started to gear up. Simon had planned for this day for a long time. The last time, he'd arrived at the scene of the crime to see his evil twin. Really, that was the first time he'd seen the other Simon. It felt like such a long time ago that sometimes he forgot.

"He'll probably be long gone before I show up," Simon told himself, but he didn't care. As much as he wanted to have it out with the man, he wanted to save the city more, which meant he had to be prepared for the fight. Fortunately, Simon had been preparing for this moment for a decade, and after donning and double-checking the fireproof leather armor that he'd crafted in case the orb didn't work, and he had to do single combat with the titan again.

"It will work," he told himself as he exited the building. "This will definitely work."

Despite how fast Simon had got ready, the volcano was already smoking, and people were running around in a panic, unsure of what to do. No lava had started to cascade down the slopes, but Simon had no doubt that it was about to.

"Armor? Finally, someone with some sense to him to defend against looters," Simon's patron said as he walked past him. "Wait, where are you going?" he continued as he realized Simon wasn't stopping. That made Simon smile, but he said nothing. No matter what happened next, he didn't need to stay on the man's good side anymore.

Now, all he needed to do was stop an eruption and maybe slay a monster that tried to emerge from it. He might also have to fight himself, too, but given that his doppelgänger hadn't actually tried to stop him last time, that seemed less likely.

Unfortunately, as Simon approached the end of the high city and saw the path winding up the shrine at the foot of the cliffs, that option became slightly more likely. Someone was definitely sitting there, and Simon was pretty sure he knew who it was.

As Simon got closer, one thing became more clear, and one thing became much clearer to him. The first was that it was definitely himself that was waiting for him up there, sitting on the small folk altar. The second, more important point, though, was that it wasn't the Simon he expected to see.

His evil twin was sitting right there for all the world to see, but there was just one detail that was off; there were no shadows that clung to him. If anything, the man was glowing quite brightly, and one didn't flow like that by becoming the sort of monster that made volcanoes erupt and killed thousands.

Simon didn't draw his sword as he approached. Instead, he set his bed down, pulled out his heavy metal orb, and set it down on his pack's beaten leather while the other version of him regarded the thing.

"Are you going to tell me what this is really all about?" Simon sighed, looking at his mirror image with annoyance. The man had the crown and looked utterly unchanged from last time, but now Simon wasn't even sure this was really him. His aura had never been half this bright.

"About?" his duplicate asked, playing coy. "I don't know what you mean. We're here to see if you can stop me from wiping out Ionar in a sea of lava, aren't we?"

"I used to think so, but now…" Simon sighed. "Can we cut the crap? What's this really about?"

"You think it will work then?" the other version of him asked, nodding to the orb as he ignored Simon's question.

"You didn't answer my question," Simon countered, unwilling to cede the point.

"Nor will I," the doppelgänger agreed with a nod before he stood. "I suppose I'll leave you to it then."

Then, with a slight gesture and a minor mocking bow, the other version of himself vanished, leaving Simon behind, only slightly annoyed. "I'm getting played," he told himself, that one glimpse of his own aura, though not nearly as detailed as he might have liked, definitely showed that his evil twin was anything but evil.

Simon pondered that for a moment longer. Then, as the volcano rumbled especially violently, he forced himself to concentrate, spoke the words of greater force, and launched the thing skyward toward the volcano's caldera. His first greater word in a very long time ripped through his throat hard, leaving the taste of blood on his mouth, as he only recently recovered vision, vanished a second time. This time, at least, it was worth it, and he watched as his golden orb raced skyward before vanishing into the thickening smoke far above him. For better or worse, the die had been cast.

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