The day after the young dragon incident was a school holiday.
Zack had planned to spend a quiet day in the dorms recovering from the chaos. But, of course, that plan was quickly derailed.
"The crepes are calling out to me!"
And just like that, he found himself being dragged to Roshar City by Ico.
"…That's really your excuse?" Zack muttered, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course it is! You've never tasted the fluffy perfection of a freshly made Fansal crepe," Ico declared, her emerald eyes gleaming with determination. "Let's go, Zack! We must hunt down the crepe stall!"
Without even waiting for a reply, Ico took his hand and tugged him forward like a child on a mission. As they passed through the main gates that separated the academy from the city proper, she marched forward with the air of a queen.
"Honestly, I still don't get why food made by stupid, ignorant humans would taste that good," she said, pouting.
"Sh-Shut up! It's not about humans being smart or not! Crepes have nothing to do with that!" Zack shot back, rolling his eyes.
Ico's cheeks turned a vivid pink, her flustered expression unexpectedly cute. She huffed and turned away, walking faster—her long, silvery-pink hair swishing behind her like a cape. Her short skirt, ruffled and barely containing the sway of her hips, fluttered in the breeze, and Zack instinctively averted his gaze.
"Maybe I went too far…" he mumbled, scratching his head. Guilt creeping in, he jogged to catch up.
But just as he rounded a corner—
Thud!
"Ah—!"
He bumped into someone.
Zack staggered back a step, barely keeping his balance, but the girl he collided with wasn't so lucky—she fell backward, landing on the cobblestone with a surprised yelp.
"Kyaa!"
"Oh crap—sorry! That was totally my fault!"
He quickly reached out to help her up.
"N-No, I wasn't watching where I was going either…"
The girl looked to be about his age. A woven flower basket had tipped over at her feet, petals spilling like snowflakes onto the street. Her striking black hair fell in soft waves around her face, and her skin—an exotic, sun-kissed oat tone—stood out among the crowd. There was something fragile and foreign about her, as if she didn't quite belong to this world.
But the moment her eyes met Zack's, her expression froze.
"You…"
Her voice was barely above a whisper, eyes wide and unblinking.
Zack blinked. "Huh? Do I… have something on my face?"
"Eeeek—NO!"
In a panic, the girl snatched up her basket, turned on her heel, and vanished into the crowd with a speed that left Zack stunned.
He was left standing there, alone and confused, as bystanders gave him awkward glances—some even eyeing him with clear suspicion.
"I-It's not what it looks like!" he protested weakly. "I didn't do anything!"
But no one seemed convinced. Embarrassed and red-faced, Zack quickly retreated from the scene, practically fleeing the plaza.
"What the hell was that about…" he muttered to himself. "Running off just from looking at me? How rude can you get?"
Still fuming, he finally caught up with Ico at the crepe stall.
Despite having no money whatsoever, Ico stood tall and proud at the front of the line, speaking with all the confidence of a seasoned regular.
"I'll take one Fansal Crepe, extra whipped cream!"
Zack nearly choked. "Wait—stop right there!"
.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.༄
Shae—the girl disguised as a flower seller—was breathing heavily, her back pressed against the cool stone wall of a deserted alleyway.
Moments ago, she had locked eyes with him.
That face… That voice… That presence…
The boy who should have been dead was casually strolling through the marketplace, alive and unharmed, as if nothing had ever happened.
"That's… impossible…"
Her voice trembled.
He had fallen into that abyss—a ravine so deep and unforgiving that even sunlight hesitated to reach the bottom. No one could have survived a fall like that. No one should have.
She tried to rationalize it, to convince herself it was a lookalike. A coincidence. A mirage, perhaps. But her instincts screamed the truth.
"No… there's no mistake."
That face, carved into her memory like a scar. That steady, careless voice. That half-smirk, full of irritating confidence. It was him. Zack Blake—the boy she had personally killed in the forest.
So why was he walking around like nothing had happened?
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She clutched the edge of her dress, her fingernails digging into her palms. According to every logical calculation, there was zero chance he had survived. But there he was. Alive.
And worse… he didn't recognize her.
But of course, back then, she hadn't been Shae the innocent flower girl.
She had been a hunter of shadows. Masked. Armored. In full Tantalos battle gear, every inch of her screaming "assassin." It made sense that Zack wouldn't recognize the delicate girl in a sundress selling lilies on the corner of a cobbled street.
That was her only saving grace. The only reason her heart wasn't currently stopped in her chest.
"What… What should I do…?"
Her voice barely reached the empty air around her.
That day, when she'd returned to Dazno's base from the ravine, she'd confidently reported his death. "Target eliminated."
Dazno hadn't asked for details. He rarely did. Zack had never been a high-priority mark, just an unfortunate witness. His death had been a footnote.
"All he said was: 'Thanks for the hard work.'"
She had felt proud then. Efficient. Reliable. Now? Her world felt like it was fracturing at the seams. Should she go back to Dazno and tell him the truth?
"The boy who fell into the ravine is still alive."
"Damn it…!" Shae clenched her fists and bit her lower lip until it nearly bled.
The worst part wasn't even the failed kill. It was the memory—the real memory—that gnawed at her like a parasite. At the cliff's edge, as the rocks gave way beneath them both, Zack had reached out, not to drag her down, but to push her to safety.
She hadn't saved herself. He had.
Even in the face of death, he'd chosen to save her. The enemy.
She couldn't understand it. Raised in the mountains where survival meant sacrifice, she had seen people push others into the abyss just to stay alive. Strength was survival. Compassion was weakness.
And yet… he had spared her with no hesitation.
"I… What am I supposed to do now?"
She stared down at her flower basket, her vision blurring. The soft petals, delicate and colorful, mocked her confusion.
If only she hadn't seen him.
If only she had never crossed paths with him again.
"Maybe… if I really was a flower seller… I'd be happier."
Her voice cracked. Her shoulders trembled.
And then her expression twisted into a scowl.
"No! Enough of this pathetic daydreaming!"
With sudden fury, she flung the basket to the ground. Flowers scattered across the cobblestones like lost dreams. She stomped them beneath her boots, crushing the softness beneath her heels.
"I'm such an idiot! I made my choice—I belong to Lord Dazno! Being by his side is my only happiness!"
Her breaths came out in sharp gasps, her chest heaving. The heat of shame and something else—something dangerous—spread through her body.
She wasn't meant to feel conflicted. She wasn't meant to remember his hands, warm against her skin… the way his gaze had met hers in those final moments…
No. She shook her head violently. As she shouted at herself to remember who she was, the cathedral bell rang out across the city.
Ding—Dong—
Noon.
Time to return to Dazno.
She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, recomposed her expression, and stepped out of the alley.