[Jevan Perspective]

Ever since I took over Jevan's body, I've run into plenty of surprises and strange information. But what I've just discovered surpasses everything before it. The Mester Masked that Iris wouldn't stop raving about on every page of her diary is the original Jevan. Things are starting to make sense, but the real problem isn't the identity of this (Mester Masked); it's the massive gap between the image Iris painted of him and my current state. Yet if you look closely, most of his strength revolved around his Water Sword.

That explains my skill with the sword, but what I can't understand is why in the name of the Creator he handed that sword over to Raven at their first meeting. Questions and more questions, with no answers. Still, at least I've finally found an answer to one of the biggest questions that's been on my mind from the beginning: why Iris was helping me.

I opened her diary again and kept reading. Page after page, nothing important except a snide remark saying she was starting to believe I was that (Mester Masked) but had become dumber after losing my memory. I kept reading reluctantly until I reached the last page, where her farewell letter was written.

"If you're reading this, it means I died while hunting Valentine. I don't know if you'll find this diary, Jevan or should I say, Mester Masked? I hope you don't, but I have a feeling you will. Ever since you lost your memory you've become annoyingly curious. Anyway, if you're reading this now, I'm gone."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you I knew you before. I was afraid that once you regained your memories you'd leave immediately. I planned to tell you everything after we finished things and killed Valentine. Even if you rejected me and tried to stop me, I would've followed you. But the fall of the Guardians disrupted all my plans. Maybe you're wondering what the Guardians' collapse has to do with this? Let me explain. The one who destroyed them in a single night was Valentine Crow himself. Despite being one of them, he did it to assimilate his Authority faster."

"That's what forced us to move quickly. If he fully assimilated his power, we wouldn't be able to catch him he'd have more ways to hide and escape. That's what Garod said. Fortunately, he'd need several days to fully assimilate his Authority, during which he'd be much weaker. If we fail to attack him, go speak with Corvin. He'll help you leave the Lower District and may know a way to help you regain your memories."

"I wanted to ask you where you were all those years, what you were doing. But I'm sure I'll find out from you myself. I don't know if you remember, but I said I'd give you back your money when we met again. You'll find it under the floorboard next to the bed. And don't forget to burn this diary after you read it. It would be horribly embarrassing if anyone else read it… and please take care of Timaeus."

I closed the diary and set it on my lap. Then suddenly I felt something warm sliding down my cheek. I quickly raised my hand and wiped my face with my palm. After that I got up from the bed and went to a loose wooden board next to it. I knelt, reached out, and lifted it. Underneath was a thick brown cloth bag. I picked it up and opened it. Inside were five silver coins and about twenty bronze ones. I stared at them for a moment, then slipped them into my coat pocket.

Ragho was still floating beside me, his transparent face reflecting deep concern.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"But you don't look like it."

I pulled my hat forward until it covered my eyes, then said:

"The dead shouldn't worry about the living."

I pushed the hat back into place, then put the diary in my pocket beside the bag of coins and left the apartment. There was a place I had to go a place I should have visited long ago but hadn't known the location of. Now, thanks to Iris's diary, I did.

I slipped through the alleys. It was late and the city was almost asleep. Luckily, I only ran into a few staggering drunks who didn't pay me any attention. My posters were plastered on the walls, a bounty of twenty silver coins for me alive or dead, and five for anyone who provided information.

How ridiculous. That amount of money is enough for someone to live like a king for the rest of his life in the Lower District or at least buy his way out. I'm not worth that much. I barely did anything with the Bloody Fang. That idiot must have reported me. I should have killed him, but the old man's spirit kept screaming in my ear, begging me to let him go. If I had killed him, he might have haunted me forever.

And now even moving around the Lower District has become a hundred times harder. I was planning to look for that so called Rusted Corvin. But can he still be trusted after a bounty like this was put on me?

…

I finally reached the Eighth District and eased up a little. This district was completely abandoned no one dared enter. I had asked Raven why once, and he told me a plague had broken out here years ago, leaving the place deserted. In a place like the Lower District, where going to a hospital is a luxury only a select few can afford, even a mild plague is a death sentence.

I walked through the tangled streets until I arrived at a decaying old apartment building. I stood before it in silence. This was where it all began. I passed through the main hallway and climbed the stairs until I reached an apartment whose door lock had been violently broken. I pushed the door gently and stepped inside.

The furniture was overturned, dust covering everything. But no trace of blood. What caught my attention instead was something else. A gray cat lay sleeping peacefully on the bed.

Wasn't that Timaeus, Iris's cat?

"In the name of the Creator, what are you doing in a place like this?"

When I approached, he woke and shrank back in fear before suddenly leaping onto me and licking me. I gently set him down on the floor, then patted his head.

"Have you been here all this time?"

He meowed again. I sighed, stood up, and began searching the place for any clue from Jevan's past. I knew little Jevan had been just an ordinary street child. But it seemed this body had gone through much more since then.

I searched the place completely but found nothing but dust. I was about to leave when something caught my eye: a small wooden box, closed with a rusty lock, sitting on a wooden table. I stepped toward it, broke the lock, and opened it. Inside were: a small leather notebook, a white mask, a pair of black leather gloves, and a carefully folded black cloak.

I lifted the cloak from the box. It was long and black, its edges torn, with a wide hood at the top. I ran my fingers over the rough fabric, then pulled it out completely to examine it.

Beneath the cloak I noticed a small envelope. I picked it up, turned it between my fingers, then opened it and took out a letter. I began to read.

To Myself

If you're reading this letter, it means you're still alive. Congratulations. You've completed the first step; only a thousand more remain. I don't know what circumstances you've been through before reaching here, but I'm sure it wasn't an easy journey.

From now on your journey will become much harder. So let me offer you a little help. In this box are some system pieces. They'll help you at least survive in the Lower District.

But I don't recommend using them too much. These pieces have many downsides. In the past I could use them more freely because I hadn't yet assimilated any Authority, but your current situation is different.

If you don't understand the nonsense I'm spouting, read the leather notebook. It contains all the knowledge I gathered over the years. You're lucky even a high ranking inspector from the Bureau of Investigation can't get to this information.

Anyway, let me be frank: what you've seen in the Lower District might seem like hell, but what awaits you outside it will make you long for those days. There, you'll face enemies compared to whom you're just an insect.

You might be wondering: why do this? Why risk my life? The answer is simple you have no choice. Even if you try to run, they'll come after you. You have only one path before you: fight to the end.

I thought about apologizing for dragging you into all this, but then I remembered: I am you, and you are me. My choices are your choices. If you want to blame someone, blame yourself for your stupid decisions.

At the end of the letter was written: Always remember who you are. You are Jevan, child of the Lower District streets. And finally, I wish you good luck on your journey you'll need it.

— Your Former Self.

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