"Welcome..."

  A voice, light and lilting, like the first notes of a song.

  "I believe this is the first time we've talked with each other… though I’ve seen you before."

  Eric was in a daze. The space around him was… not dark, not light, not anything, yet full of something.

  And the voice, the woman.

  Barefoot, almost nothing covered her figure. Her form wavered, translucent at the edges. But her pupils were the strangest part, blurred, shifting, as if they couldn’t decide on a shape.

  A slow smile spread across her lips. "Right now, you might be thinking. Who's this woman in front of me? What had I done prior to this?"

  "Right, so who are you?"

  The woman clasped her hands behind her back, swaying playfully.

  "Oh, that’s not the right question." Her voice was teasing, sweet, almost affectionate. "The right question is… where are we? Why does this place feel like something familiar, yet so far?"

  His pulse ticked up. The space around him was nothing but shifting haze, yet she was right; there was an air of familiarity, though he wasn't sure what and why. A rhythm lingered in the air, like a distant melody he couldn’t quite hear.

  "See? You're feeling it, aren't you?" The woman floated to his right. "Something’s scratching at the back of your mind. Something you should know."

  He tried to step back, but his legs didn’t answer. His own body refused his command.

  "I don’t have time for guessing games," he muttered.

  The woman pouted. "That’s a shame. I do."

  She stepped closer to his right. The ground didn’t react beneath her feet, as if she weren’t bound to it.

  "But alright, if you're in such a hurry." She extended a hand toward him, fingers delicate, inviting. "All these memories, I'll help you remember. For now, I need your help with something. Come on, hold my hand."

  Eric didn’t move. Every instinct in his body screamed at him not to take it.

  But something pulled at him, as though his movement was predetermined.

  The rhythm in the air deepened, settling into his bones. His fingertips tingled, and his pulse slowed.

  His hand lifted.

  Before he even realized what he was doing, his fingers brushed against hers.

  And then...

  Falling.

  The world dropped away. Wind roared in his ears, tearing at him. His stomach lurched as the translucent woman pulled him downward. The sky above twisted, blue bleeding into black.

  He did nothing, simply following the force of the pull while still holding her hand.

  But something else grabbed him.

  Someone.

  Gareth.

  His figure materialized beside him, hand clamping onto Eric’s left wrist, preventing him from sinking even further.

  The woman's grip tightened, trying to fight it off, yet Gareth’s hold grew stronger.

  A third figure appeared, an unclear figure, but covered in a dark blue shade.

  Slowly, the three of them fought the pull.

  "Ohhh… fine." Her voice was amused, delighted even. "You want to do this the hard way?"

  She lunged.

  Teeth sank into Eric’s throat.

  "Enjoy my present!"

  ---

  Eric snapped upright with a choke.

  Weight was on him, warm and wet.

  Pain also came from his neck. Blood, there was blood, much of it. His hand and chest were also soaked in it.

  He reached for his neck, but something blocked his hand. Something heavy. He shoved it aside, and the world tilted.

  A body.

  A woman.

  Her throat was opened wide and bleeding fresh across his skin. The blood soaking him wasn’t drying; it was flowing. His hand, his chest, his stomach, everything was slick.

  "What…? No...no...no."

  He rolled away, gagging, scrambling backward until his spine hit the bed frame. His fingers slipped on the floor, leaving red smears he couldn’t stop staring at.

  The woman twitched; she was trying to speak. A dark smile dragged across her face instead of fear. Then she screamed, raw and terrified, and went limp.

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  "What did I do? What did I do?"

  A knock rattled the door.

  He couldn’t answer. Heck, he couldn’t even breathe properly.

  The door burst open. Faces he recognized were there, the other patrons of the Twin Shield.

  Their expressions twisted in horror. Someone shouted.

  "Murderer!"

  A murmur of voices turned into a rising wave of panic. Hands grabbed for him, but Eric moved before they could pin him down.

  Lunging backward, he broke the window to the second-floor balcony.

  No time to think, he jumped to the street below.

  Impact.

  A jolt of pain shot through his ankle, but adrenaline carried him forward. He staggered, but didn’t stop.

  More people were spilling from the inn. Confused onlookers stared; after all, it was a shirtless man jumping from the second floor.

  "There! That’s him!"

  Eric gritted his teeth.

  Eric moved fast, turning into every small alley he could find, weaving between carts and stalls, trying to shake off his pursuers.

  He didn’t know how far he ran. Streets blurred into alleys, alleys into blind corners, movement carrying him while his brain still screamed blood...blood...blood.

  He turned a corner when he saw a sealed old gateway leading to the market. Thick, aged stones blocked the entrance, the kind meant to keep people from slipping in without passing the guard post inspection.

  No drawn weapons. No magic in the market. That was the rule.

  "Screw the rules."

  With a quick, controlled burst of mana from his palm, he created a mini explosion, enough to crumble the old stones without blowing the tiny pieces everywhere.

  Boom

  The stones shuddered and collapsed. Dust plumed into the air, and before anyone could react, Eric slipped through the gap, vanishing into the bustling market.

  He kept his head low, pushing into the crowd.

  He needed a disguise.

  Not far ahead, a cloaked figure walked to a corner with their stuff in their hands.

  Perfect.

  Eric stepped forward, quick and precise, looping an arm around their throat from behind.

  He squeezed just enough. The figure gasped, struggled for half a second, then went limp.

  "Sorry, sorry," he muttered, lowering what appeared to be a woman gently onto a nearby cart.

  "You’ll be fine, ma'am. Thanks for the cloak, by the way." He said as he slipped a few silver coins from his pocket to hers.

  He pulled the cloak from her shoulders and wrapped it around himself before melting back into the crowd.

  ---

  Guards were already combing through the market, stopping people at random.

  Eric watched from the side, eyes scanning their movements.

  They weren’t calling his name. They weren’t even saying why they were looking for him. Just—

  "A red-haired maniac. Have you seen him?" The guards shouted at the folk's face.

  Maniac?

  Still, he had to keep moving. He stopped by a fish stall, pretending to haggle as the guards passed.

  The fish seller, an old Felian with sharp eyes, gave him a long, slow look. His gaze moved to Eric’s obviously red hair under the hood, then to his bare chest beneath the cloak.

  He was about to speak.

  Eric moved first.

  He pulled out ten gold coins, everything he had from his pants pockets, and flashed them in his palm.

  The fish seller’s expression didn’t change at first. Then, a slow, amused grin crept across his face.

  “Pleasure doing business with you, good sir,” the Felian smirked, handing Eric a fish from his orange-furred paw, as if they had just sealed a completely normal deal.

  He grabbed the fish and walked away.

  One problem solved, but he still needed better camouflage.

  ---

  More guards were entering the market and asking questions.

  As Eric strolled carefully to the center of the market, he spotted a Felian and an Ursaborn standing near the garment stall, deep in some heated argument.

  Felians were fast, twitchy, always ready for a fight—but not stupid. This Ursaborn, on the other hand, was slow to anger but an absolute force once riled up.

  "This’ll do."

  Eric lunged forward, shoving the Felian hard. The wiry feline stumbled, his ears flattening in pure offended rage.

  The Felian hissed, his tail lashing. "What the hell—?!"

  Eric jabbed a finger at the Ursaborn beside him. "He pushed me first."

  The Felian’s slitted pupils narrowed. He turned to the massive, fur-covered man, ears twitching. "That true, furball?"

  The Ursaborn snorted, crossing his arms. "You’re half my size, cat. If I pushed you, you’d be flying across the street."

  “Bullshit!” the Felian spat, fur bristling. "You wanna test that?"

  The Ursaborn’s expression darkened.

  Then, he swung.

  The Felian ducked under the first blow, but the Ursaborn's second swing clipped him, sending him skidding across the cobblestones.

  Chaos erupted.

  He let himself catch a stray hit, a sharp claw swipe across his arm, then threw himself backward dramatically into the crowd, knocking into two more people.

  More bodies turned, and more voices shouted.

  Someone got shoved.

  Someone else threw a punch.

  And just like that, the entire area exploded into a full-blown brawl.

  As the guards were preoccupied, Eric moved fast.

  In the chaos, he grabbed another Felian—a stocky orange-furred one—and hurled him straight into the garment stall.

  The vendor shrieked as his stand collapsed, bolts of fabric spilling everywhere.

  Eric grabbed whatever he could, a shirt, a vest, anything to cover himself.

  Then he escaped.

  He didn’t stop to check if the guards had noticed. Didn’t slow down to see if the vendor was yelling after him.

  He had everything he needed.

  He didn’t look back.

  He didn’t think.

  Thinking would mean facing the one question he couldn’t outrun:

  If I didn’t kill her… who did?

  And why was I covered in her blood?

  ---

  The noise of the market faded behind him, swallowed by narrow alleys and crooked stone walls. His legs didn’t stop until they refused to keep going.

  He staggered into the shadow of an abandoned carriage and collapsed with his back against it.

  Breathing hurt. Every breath scraped his throat raw.

  The cloak stuck to his skin, wet underneath with blood that wasn't his.

  He put it off and wore his newly obtained sets of average townfolk's attire, covering the dried blood on his chest.

  He pressed a palm to his neck, no wound, no teeth marks, no scar, nothing.

  But he remembered the bite.

  Was that all just a dream?

  His stomach lurched. He leaned forward and spat.

  He wiped his mouth with shaking fingers. They left red streaks on his cheek.

  That’s her blood.

  His hands flew away from his face like. He pressed them to the dirt, rubbing them raw, clawing at the ground, trying to get the red off. It smeared deeper.

  A sound choked out of him, half gag and half sob. He slammed his hand against the stone wall, again and again, until pain finally interrupted everything.

  A voice echoed in his skull.

  "Enjoy my present."

  The woman in the dream, the fall, her teeth, then waking up drenched in blood.

  Memories started coming back. The last thing he remembered was offering Erina shelter at the guild. They were supposed to leave for the guild today.

  Was that Erina on my bed? Did I truly murder her in my sleep?

  ---