Out in the open, the air felt strangely still. Dust drifted through the sunlight, and Tyrus stood motionless on the street, staring down at his palm with a flat expression. The blood that had splattered across his skin earlier had already dried, leaving faint streaks that caught the light like rust.

His mind kept circling back to the old man's expression, and the trembling knife pointed at him after Tyrus saved his family. He expected some gratitude, yet instead, the man had stared at him as though he were the beast that attacked him.

Tyrus could see the clear hatred and disgust in his eyes. It was the same burning look Tyrus had seen plenty of times on guards, merchants, and even on students back at the academy who pretended otherwise when teachers were near.

He'd told himself it didn't bother him anymore. That after meeting people who did see him for who he was, he'd finally built up a shield thick enough to dull the sting. But now, standing there after risking his life for strangers who would sooner stab him than thank him, he was having second thoughts.

Did he really need to save everyone in need?

Of course, Tyrus had already thought of this before. If someone had wronged him or had done something he considered unforgivable, a small part of him would whisper to let them suffer. Only now, that sentiment was growing stronger.

He clenched his palm until the dried blood cracked across his skin. Nearby stretched a crimson trail, leading away from the residential section and onto a dirt street. The blood was still wet, meaning the beast Tyrus wounded hadn't gone far.

He was about to follow the trail when a voice called out:

"Hey, you there!"

Tyrus turned, half-ready for another round of venom, but it wasn't the old man, but someone else. A man clutching a small boy in his arms, his face streaked with sweat, hurried to him.

It was the same pair he had been chasing through the alleys earlier. Tyrus straightened as they approached.

"I… wanted to thank you," the man said, panting between words. "For what you did."

Tyrus blinked, unsure if he'd heard right.

"For saving us from those beasts," the man continued. He shifted the boy in his arms, who clung to his tunic and peeked shyly at Tyrus. "I'm no fool. You think I'd bring a child out here on purpose? The alarms rang, and I ran home, but I lost my brother in the chaos. He's only four, so I went looking for him, and by the time I found him hiding under a cart, those hounds were already on us. We barely made it out of the alley."

Tyrus frowned. "The people in that house wouldn't let you in."

"I don't blame them," the man blurted. "Not after what's happened lately. Doors don't open when beasts are on the loose." He looked down at the boy, brushing dirt from his hair. "Still… I can't say I'll forget it, either."

The boy looked over his brother's shoulder, voice small. "Thank you, mister."

For a moment, Tyrus couldn't speak, not knowing what to say. His throat went dry, and he managed only a stiff nod.

Behind him, the faint clatter of glass drew his attention. The window of the house he had just leapt from had a young lady leaning against the sill. Her eyes met his, soft despite the recent encounter.

"My father's too stubborn to say it," she said, her voice trembling but clear. "So I will. Thank you, explorer. For saving my family."

Someone inside shouted, "Laira! Get away from the window and help me board it up!"

She waved quickly and vanished back inside. Silence stretched after her words, just the low hum of wind winding through empty streets.

Tyrus exhaled slowly and lowered his sword. "Find shelter and stay there until this is over. It'll end soon enough."

The man nodded, gripping the child close. "You have our thanks, explorer. Stay safe."

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They hurried off down the road, disappearing behind the corner.

For a while, Tyrus just stood there. The praise—light as it was—had cut through the bitterness lingering from before, but the blood on the ground reminded him it wasn't over yet.

He followed the dark trail along the road, moving past abandoned carts. The crimson path thickened behind a pile of wooden barrels and a stone building at the end of the street. The air grew heavier with the tang of fresh blood. He wrinkled his nose as he approached.

"Typical humans," came Eaubrus's voice from the shadow. "No matter the age, no matter how much time passes, they remain the same. Always ready to bare their teeth at what they don't understand."

Tyrus glanced down at the pool of darkness stretching along his boots. "Are you talking about that old man?"

"Humans have always harbored hatred toward beasts, whether lesser or greater. To them, your blood makes you the same as they are. Humans consider you neither one of them nor one of us. If you value your sanity, bearer, expect nothing better from them."

Tyrus stopped, frowning. "You talk like you hate humans."

The wolf hesitated, then drawled, "Hating without cause is pointless. But I have my reasons."

"You've seen it before, haven't you? The same thing happening over and over again."

"I have seen the pattern," Eaubrus said. "They fear what they cannot understand or control. They always have. When mana came to them, they called it a Blessing of Sthito, gifted to them to combat greater powers. Yet it made them vain—arrogant enough to believe they were chosen above all others. To forget the balance that once was before the era of sorcerers."

Tyrus tilted his head. "You mean the Pre-Sorcery Era... Eaubrus, it sounds like you remembered something."

Eaubrus didn't reply right away. Just silence hung in the air, then...

"The smell of blood is strong behind the barrels," the shadow murmured. "I believe the fleeing hound is there."

Sighing, Tyrus followed the trail to where one side of the road ended. There, half in the shadows of the building and barrels, lay the lesser hound he injured earlier. Its lean body was slumped on its side, entrails spilling into a pond of crimson beneath it.

But it wasn't the hound that caught his eye, but the man standing over it.

He wore formal attire that looked wildly out-of-place amid the dust and ruin. The man wore a dark coat with red trim and a flame insignia on his chest. Alongside the military-looking attire were tailored boots and trousers that matched. His hair, dark and straight, reached his nape.

He turned at the sound of Tyrus's boots scraping the dirt, his expression hard, unreadable. Deep-brown eyes locked on him.

Tyrus stiffened and muttered, "Sir Wayne."

The knight gave him a terse glare before returning his attention to the corpse. He pulled his blade free from the hound's ribs with one smooth motion. Blood trickled down the steel. With the calm precision of a man wiping away annoyance, he cleaned the blade on a patch of unsoiled fur and sheathed it.

"I don't need to worry about it anymore," Tyrus said. "Since you killed it."

The knight didn't answer.

"Good thing, too," Tyrus continued, ignoring the silence. "It would've been a problem if anyone else encountered it. Even though it was badly hurt, its claws and teeth are still dangerous."

Sir Wayne stepped away from the body. His boots made no sound on the dirt as he walked past Tyrus. The man carried an aura that made the air thin. Even after months of being around Sir Wayne, Tyrus still felt the weight of that suffocating presence.

A trained Augmentation Sorcerer, and a knight handpicked by the Lockharts, who was also precise with a blade...

"Where have you been this whole time?" Tyrus asked.

The knight stopped with his back still turned. "I am not obliged to answer your questions, boy."

Tyrus bit his tongue. After a pause, Sir Wayne added:

"Young Master Igneal is with the Apostle and the branch leader at the guild. If you must waste words, waste them there."

"At the guild? During all this?"

Sir Wayne didn't respond. His gaze shifted toward the east, where faint howls echoed from beyond the town's edge. He rested his hand on the sword's hilt, started walking, and then abruptly broke into a sprint.

"Wait—" Tyrus started, but the knight was already gone, his figure vanishing.

Tyrus stood there for a long moment, listening to the distant roar of battle. "He's heading toward the fight, right? I hope so."

He stored his weapon in his Scourge ring with a frown. As much as he disliked the man, there was no denying Sir Wayne was stronger than any of them. Probably stronger than Reo and Grant combined. If anyone could end what remained of this chaos in seconds, it was him.

Now that Sir Wayne is there, they don't need my help anymore. I can focus on other things, like what the cranky knight said earlier.

Tyrus' eyes traced the rooftops until they settled on the one structure that stood above the rest: the Explorer Guild. Its upper floor jutted high, banners fluttering in the wind.

"What are they doing in there?" he wondered aloud. "Hiding, or some other reason?"

Seconds later, Tyrus's heart trembled more than usual. His hand drifted to his chest, feeling the thump of his heart under the blood-soaked tunic. Each beat felt heavier than the last, as if a drum were beating from within.

That's my body telling me to hurry up already and rest. I will after I find out what those three are doing on their own! Fiona should be there too, I think.

Determined, Tyrus trudged toward the guild. After rounding a few corners, Tyrus was face to face with the smooth doors of the building.

A quick look over, and Tyrus saw nothing unusual on the outside like broken windows or a busted door. More confident, he lifted his arm and pushed. As soon as a sliver of an opening appeared, a man shouted from inside.

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