After a while, Dorne climbed the stairs to the second floor and stopped in front of the room he'd given Nero. He knocked.
"Come in," Nero said from inside. "It's unlocked."
Dorne stepped in and found Nero sitting on the stool in the corner. He raised an eyebrow.
"Why're you sitting over there? Why not the bed?"
Nero looked at him flatly. "Because I'm still covered in blood."
Dorne winced and scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah… totally forgot about that."
He cleared his throat. "Anyway. You hungry?"
Nero's stomach growled.
"I'm starving," he admitted. "But I should probably take a shower first."
"Yeah, you definitely should," Dorne replied. "You were sleeping on the ground, and you're still rocking those… uh, 'stylish' clothes."
Nero shot him a deadpan stare. "How long are you planning on making fun of the hole in my shirt?"
Dorne just smiled. "Wait here. I'll grab you something to change into."
He went to his own room, rummaged through the closet, and returned with a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt.
"Here. I used to wear these when I was about your age. Should fit."
Nero took them, eyebrow lifting. "When you were my age? How old are you?"
Dorne smirked. "Turned forty this year."
Nero's jaw dropped. He looked Dorne up and down. "No way. You look, like… twenty-five. Maybe twenty-eight."
"I get that a lot," Dorne said with a shrug.
Nero laughed. "You must be popular with the ladies."
The smirk faded. "Still single."
Nero chuckled. "Well, if you keep making fun of everyone you meet, no wonder. Serves you right."
Dorne's eye twitched. "Oh yeah? I'd like to see your girlfriend—if you have one, that is. Oh wait. You don't remember."
Nero glared at him. "Not cool, man."
Dorne laughed it off. "Yeah, yeah. Go take a shower. Bathroom's down the hall."
Grumbling, Nero stood and headed out.
Halfway down the hallway, he stopped.
A goat stood directly in his path.
It stared at him.
Nero stared back.
The atmosphere tightened, like a standoff in an old western. Neither moved.
"… Why is there a goat in the house?" Nero muttered.
The goat let out a low, gravelly "Maa," as if to say, "What are you doing in my house?"
Its hooves scraped against the wooden floor.
"Easy," Nero said, holding his hands up, clothes still clutched in his grip. "Don't even think about it."
The goat stomped once. Hard.
Baa.
"You're dead, intruder."
Then, with a wild cry—
"MAAAA!"—
the goat charged.
Nero bent his knees and jumped just in time, clearing the charging beast by a hair. The goat thundered past him and slammed headfirst into the wall with a violent crash that rattled the hallway.
Dust burst into the air.
Nero landed cleanly, boots skidding a fraction as he turned to face it.
"I warned you not to do that."
He reached a hand toward the goat—then stopped.
The memory hit him without warning: children screaming, terror in their eyes, recoiling at his touch. His fingers curled slightly, then withdrew. He stepped back instead.
The goat was now lodged firmly in the wall, horns buried deep in cracked wood. It wriggled furiously, hooves scraping as it tried—and failed—to free itself.
"Give up already," Nero said, tilting his head. "Want me to help?"
The goat let out a smug, drawn-out "Baa-aa-aa," like it was laughing at him.
"Pfft, please. I let you win."
The commotion finally drew Dorne into the hallway. He rounded the corner just in time to see Nero crouched low, poking the embedded goat with a stick like it was an unexploded bomb. The goat snapped its jaws and bleated furiously, eyes blazing with pure hatred.
"What the hell are you two doing?" Dorne asked, rubbing his temple.
Nero straightened immediately and pointed.
"This crazy thing tried to kill me!"
The goat exploded into noise.
"Maa! Baa! MAAAA!"
It stomped once for emphasis.
"I'll break every bone in your body, you son of a bitch! Just you wait!"
Dorne sighed. Long. Deep. Exhausted.
"That's Captain Headbutt," he said flatly, gesturing at the goat. "Captain Headbutt, this is Nero. He's our new guest."
Nero blinked. Once. Then again. He looked at Dorne. Then at the goat. Then back.
"You're joking," he said slowly. "This lunatic lives here?"
Before Dorne could answer, Captain Headbutt gave a violent yank and tore himself free from the wall with a snort. Wood splintered as he spun around, locking eyes with Nero.
"MAAAAA!"
"Who are you calling crazy, punk!?"
He charged again.
Nero didn't even flinch. He stepped aside calmly, letting momentum do the work. Captain Headbutt sailed past him and slammed into the opposite wall—this time bouncing off instead of getting stuck, leaving behind a fresh crater of cracked plaster.
Shaking dust from his horns, the goat turned slowly, clearly gearing up for round three.
Nero shifted his stance.
Before either of them could move, Dorne stepped between them and raised a hand.
"CH. If you don't behave, I'll stop giving you bananas."
Captain Headbutt froze.
Slowly, he turned his head toward Dorne. Then back to Nero.
A low sound escaped his throat.
"Baa…"
It was slow. Deep. Deliberate. Like a growl wrapped in wool.
"This isn't over, punk. Watch your back."
With exaggerated dignity—and unmistakable menace—the goat turned and walked away down the hall.
Nero watched him go.
"I think… he just threatened me."
Dorne stared at the damaged wall and groaned.
"I'm gonna have to fix that tomorrow. Again."
Then he glanced at Nero.
"Go take that shower. Then come to the dining room. And hurry—the food's getting cold."
Nero shook his head, half in disbelief, and continued down the hall.
Inside the bathroom, he shut the door and began undressing. His shirt peeled away in stiff, ragged layers, heavy with dried blood. He dropped it to the floor and froze.
Dark cracks traced across his body—jagged, branching lines running over his chest, arms, and sides. He looked like a statue that had been shattered and glued back together.
Carefully, he touched one along his ribs.
It didn't hurt.
"What the hell is even this…?" he whispered.
He raised his head and finally met his reflection.
A face he didn't recognize stared back at him.
White hair. Silver irises. A crack running across his skin like something fundamental had broken and never fully healed.
Questions crowded his mind, one after another.
What are these lines on my body?
Whose blood is this?
What was I doing in that crater?
Why did the kids freak out back there?
But beneath all of them—pressing harder than the rest—was a single question that refused to let go.
Who… am I?