Unrepentant

The evening air outside Sichal’s prison clung to Zinnia like a damp cloak, the last remnants of daylight gone, the sky turned into hues of deep blues and purples.

She paused at the large metal entrance, rolling her shoulders as if trying to shake off the memory of her conversation with Silas.

Her face twisted into a grimace. “At least he wasn’t in a bullying mood~” she thought, attempting to console herself, though the thought of what he could be planning sent an involuntary shudder through her spine. Those were becoming rather common now.

He’d mentioned he would meet her at the inn soon, after finishing up his contingency.

Her gaze fell across the street, where a figure stood shivering. Shirtless, the young man who had saved her earlier shifted from foot to foot, muttering a nonsensical tune to himself in an effort to stay warm.

The sight managed to ease some of her irritation; she almost smiled as he performed his odd little jig, oblivious to the onlookers who gave him strange, confused glances. Some snickered, shaking their heads at the ridiculousness of the scene, while others seemed on the verge of outright laughter.

Zinnia approached silently, stepping up next to him unnoticed until she poked him in the ribs. The man nearly jumped out of his skin, spinning around with wide eyes before quickly regaining his composure. “Well! Look at you!” he said with exaggerated enthusiasm, flashing her a grin that was meant to be dashing. “That Ji fellow really stole ya back from Hiran.”

A faint glimmer of snot, courtesy of the night’s chill, glistened at his nostril, completely ruining the effect. Zinnia raised an eyebrow, lips pressed together in disbelief at his theatrical stance. “Has it not occurred to you that you could’ve, I don’t know, gotten a shirt instead of freezing out here?”

The young man blinked, his smile never faltering. “Not once!” he declared with an air of righteous certainty.

Zinnia exhaled sharply through her nose, feeling her frustration ebb away, replaced by the suspicion that this man might actually be an idiot.

He dropped his grand pose, crossing his arms over his chest to keep warm, his grin softening into something more genuine. “I just wanted to make sure I did a good job, you know? First time rescuing someone, figured I’d better stick around and make sure you’re okay before I got cozy.”

Zinnia’s expression softened in return. “You did great. Alive and well, as you can see. Now, what do you want?” She leaned in, waiting for the inevitable ask.

He scratched his chin, squinting up at the darkening sky as if the answer might be written there. “Well,” he began, speaking so quickly his words blurred together, “I want a shirt ’cause I’m so cold I could cut rocks with my nipples, I wanna ride a dragon, I want to be the richest man this side of the Great Sea, I want to raid a Dwarven brewery, I want to—”

Zinnia waved a hand, cutting him off before he could continue his absurd list. “I meant, what do you want from me, not your life goals.”

He shrugged, laughing as though it were the most natural misunderstanding. “Oh, right! Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.”

“Fine?” Zinnia repeated, eyeing him with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “You stood out here for hours, shirtless, waiting for me, and it’s just ‘fine’?”

He gave an exaggerated nod. “Yep! It’s fine.”

Zinnia crossed her arms, curiosity creeping into her voice. “Then why bother saving me?”

He raised a finger, about to respond, but then lowered it just as quickly, shrugging again. “Felt like the decent thing to do. Oh, and by the way, name’s Robbi. You know where I work if that’s your kind of thing. Feel free to visit me sometime!” He winked, clearly not caring how ridiculous he looked with his nose red from the cold.

She gave him a once-over, noting how disarmingly handsome he was despite the lack of muscle and the goofy demeanor. But the thought of Silas and his mood swings lurked at the back of her mind, tempering her amusement and making her consider whether she would get in trouble if she wasn't available when he wanted her to do some grunt work. “Decent thing to do, huh? Alright, Robbi. You can call me Zin. I’ll get you something for the trouble soon. Sound good?”

Robbi wagged a finger at her, clicking his tongue. “Now, now. In my line of work, if we started holding onto promises, there’d be a lot less fun for the ladies and gents that need it. But hey, I’d appreciate it if you could swing by my boss tomorrow and clear up why I was shivering outside instead of keeping clients warm.” He sneezed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

Zinnia rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a sigh. “I’ll get you a shirt. Go home, hero. I’ll see if my ‘boss’ gives me time off tomorrow.”

He gave her a bright, boyish smile although he was more than likely reaching his thirtieth summer soon. “Thanks!”

Together, they began walking toward a clothier still open down the street, the cool night air making Robbi shiver even more. After a few moments, he glanced at her, his curiosity finally catching up. “So, how’d you end up in that state anyway?”

Zinnia stopped in her tracks, an incredulous sigh escaping her lips. “Now you remember to ask that?”

Robbi scratched his head, sheepishly shrugging. “Figured I’d wait till it wasn’t life and death.”

She shook her head again, then answered, voice dry with sarcasm. “A nasty man poisoned me over a date gone bad a few weeks back, and ‘Senior Ji’ is the only one who knows how to cure it.”

“Sounds rough,” Robbi muttered, his earlier cheer dimmed by the seriousness of her reply. He sniffed the air, casting her a sidelong glance. “But hey, you made it, right?”

“Yeah,” Zinnia said quietly. “I made it.”

The cold water splashed against Silas’s hands, bloodstains swirling in the basin before vanishing down the drain.

He stood in the prison lavatory, the light casting sharp shadows across his face.

Silas scrubbed until the skin felt raw, though the stains had long since faded. "That's done now," he thought, his fingers flexing under the flow of water. "Time to see what Selen managed to learn. Perhaps I might get lucky for once." A bitter scoff escaped him, and a dark shadow fell over his face. His lips twisted into a brief, disturbing grin as he muttered, “Luck…”

Silas dried his hands, his eyes catching his reflection in the tarnished mirror for a fleeting moment. The man staring back at him looked calm, composed—but there was always something lurking beneath. He exited the lavatory, nodding toward the guards stationed at the entrance.

They stiffened under his gaze, acknowledging him without question. He strode through the prison’s corridors, the smell of sweat and despair clinging to the air.

Stepping into the cool night, Silas inhaled deeply, the scent of the city—smoke, food, and the faintest hint of the forest—filled his lungs. As he walked through the streets, his thoughts drifted. “Hiding in the shadows is good for finding and getting what you want. But infamy... infamy is better for keeping it.” His fingers grazed the fabric of his satchel, feeling the weight of the concoctions, treasures and tools hidden within. “A lesson worth more than many others.”

The streets of Sichal stretched out before him, alive with the hum of mortal lives. The gentle glow of lanterns illuminated clusters of people—families gathered for evening meals, friends sharing drinks outside taverns, lovers strolling in the cooling air. Laughter echoed from a nearby building, and the smell of baked bread wafted through the air, mingling with the savory scents of stews and roasted meats. Silas’s gaze swept over it all with a detached interest.

“A cultivator’s life,” he mused, “is so different from theirs. So far removed from the simple pleasures they cherish.” His thoughts wandered further, reflecting on the strange harmony between the cultivators and mortals.

“The lesser freely mingle with their superiors. The superiors don’t fully eclipse their lessers. And sometimes... the lessers can even rise to become superiors themselves, while the mighty fall to join the ranks of the ordinary. A world that feels so old, yet also so new. So ever-changing, yet so still. The old becomes the new, the new becomes the old... and yet, no one notices.”

His contemplation was interrupted as a ball rolled down a narrow alleyway, coming to rest at his feet. A group of children playing nearby called out to him, their innocent faces lighting up as they waved for him to return the ball.

He bent down, picking it up and throwing it in front of himself. With a flick of his foot, he sent the ball into an elegant arc over the heads of the passersby. The children cheered, their voices echoing down the alley.

“Awesome!” “Thank you!” “Nice shot!”

Silas waved briefly before continuing on his way, his thoughts once again shifting to more pressing matters. “Tomorrow, I need to establish contact with this Director,” he thought, eyes narrowing. “Find out what I can about that 'Hidden Realm' from the Artificer's Guild... and then, figure out who is the person from the Echo.” His mind buzzed with the tasks ahead, each one a piece of the puzzle he was assembling, though their true shape still eluded him.

As the Siren’s Rest Inn came into view, Silas slowed his pace. The glow of its lights spilled out onto the street. He scanned the entrance briefly before stepping inside, the faint scent of incense greeting him. The noise of the interior washed over him—a blend of clinking glasses, murmured conversations, and the occasional laugh. But Silas’s eyes immediately fell on something that pulled his attention: his metal tin was sitting on the reception desk.

His expression neutral, he approached the receptionist inquiring why it was there. The employee perked up at his arrival. “Welcome back, Senior Ji!” the man said brightly, straightening up. “A new guest checked in earlier and said they found this here. We couldn’t confirm who it belonged to, so we decided to hold it and wait for someone to claim it.”

Silas smiled, though there was little emotion behind it. “Thank you for your diligence. May I ask, is the guest still here?”

The receptionist nodded eagerly. “Yes, sir! They mentioned that if anyone came looking for the container, we should let them know where to find them.” His voice took on an excited tone as he began recounting the story of the man with the tophat, babbling about fated encounters and strange sayings.

But Silas had already stopped listening, his mind racing through the implications. “This is the best intimidation they can muster?” he thought, disappointed. His fingers dipped into his satchel, retrieving a small perfume bottle. As the receptionist continued, Silas gave the bottle’s squeeze bulb a light press, releasing a pleasant-smelling mist over the tin. The mist formed a thin, glass-like layer around the container, encapsulating it completely.

The receptionist paused mid-sentence, his eyes widening in awe as he watched the strange sheen settle over the tin. Silas flipped it over, sealing the underside before returning it to his satchel.

“Well,” Silas said, his tone calm and measured, “I shall certainly meet with this individual. But first, I must attend to a few more matters in my room.” He pulled a crisp 100 Reshal note from his coat and handed it to the receptionist.

The young man blinked in surprise, stammering a thank you as Silas nodded and made his way toward the stairs. The note was more than generous.

The receptionist glanced down at the bill, a mixture of appreciation and unease settling over him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something strange, something beyond his understanding, was about to unfold within the walls of the inn.