The city returned to its uneasy calm after the rampage.
Days passed, but the memory of the four-eyed demonic wolf's attack lingered in the streets like a faint scar.
Merchants rebuilt their stalls. Guards patrolled more frequently. Rumors spread, not of panic, but of awe.
"An unidentified warrior, they said."
"A beast that size? Was killed so easily?"
"Must've been a high-rank warrior that killed it."
Nezeku heard them all. Each whisper, each story, it brought a small smirk to his face.
But he said nothing.
He was sitting outside his small home when Varric arrived. His presence was as heavy as ever, calm, composed, and terrifyingly sharp.
"Morning, brat," Varric said gruffly, tossing him a piece of bread. "You look better. Shoulder still aching?"
Nezeku caught the bread with one hand, took a slow bite, and shrugged.
"Nothing a little rest can't fix."
Varric's eyes drifted toward the cracked gauntlet lying beside him. The silence between them stretched for a few seconds, quiet, but meaningful.
Then, Varric exhaled a laugh through his nose.
"I heard a demonic beast rampaged through the merchant district a few nights ago."
Nezeku kept eating, gaze fixed on the ground.
"Really? Must've been chaos."
Varric smirked faintly.
"Mm. Funny thing, though. Reports say it was killed by an unknown warrior,
Crater in the ground, aura residue faint but… refined.
Not something anyone could just pull off."
Nezeku met his eyes, calm but unreadable.
"Sounds like someone strong was passing by. The merchants were lucky."
For a moment, Varric said nothing.
Then, he chuckled, that deep, gravelly sound of a man who already knew the truth but didn't need to say it.
"Strong, huh? Maybe."
He leaned down, picking up the damaged gauntlet. The metal was bent and cracked, faint traces of aura still clinging to it.
"This," he said, turning it over in his hands, "has seen better days."
"Training accident," Nezeku replied smoothly.
"Mm." Varric's lips curved slightly. "Sure."
He set the gauntlet under his arm. "I'll take this to an old blacksmith I know in the lower district. He owes me a few favors. Might be able to reinforce it with something sturdier."
Nezeku blinked, momentarily caught off guard.
"You'd do that?"
"Don't mistake kindness for charity," Varric snorted. "You're still training under me. If your equipment breaks that easily, it reflects poorly on my teaching."
Nazeku smiled faintly.
"Understood."
When Varric left, Nezeku leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes.
The ache in his shoulder had dulled, but his body still carried the fatigue of the battle.
He focused inward.
His aura circulation felt smoother now, more natural. Every breath drew energy through his veins, reinforcing his muscles.
He could feel the rhythm of his body now, the invisible pulse between mind and aura, a harmony he never achieved before regression.
The aura flows like blood… But mine hums differently.
He clenched his fists, faint threads of light forming around them.
Stronger… steadier… controlled.
The faint smirk returned.
"Maybe that old Varric's brutal training wasn't pointless after all."
He straightened up, heading toward the training grounds.
His steps were silent, but his mind was loud.
Few days until the academy…
I'll be ready this time. No one will look down on me again.
Later, as he sat by candlelight, the faint whisper of the dragon echoed in the back of his mind, distant, almost like a memory carried by wind.
"Your body grows… but your will is still soft."
Nezeku opened his eyes, half amused.
"You're awake huh?"
"Do not mistake awakening for awareness. Power comes at a cost, mortal. The question is, how much will you pay?"
The voice faded before he could reply.
He leaned back, staring at the candle flame. The reflection of crimson flickered briefly in his left eye before disappearing again.
Cost, huh?
His expression hardened.
"Then I'll just make sure I'm strong enough to afford it."