City lights glimmered in the darkness as the [Pocket Watch of the Heart's Desire] clicked closed in Alarion's hand. The actual lights this time, not that drab facsimile from the studio.

Alarion sat on the villa's stone railing, his back against an expensive statue, one knee pulled up to his chest. The city spilled away beneath him in terraces of white roofs and narrow streets. The railing was cool, and the air smelled faintly of dust and crushed citrus from the courtyard below. He pushed a button on the silver pocket watch until the lid snapped open—click—and then pressed it shut again—click—trying to calibrate his breathing to the mechanism's small, obedient sounds.

He had not lingered in the interview after Ella's final question, but he'd left with more grace than Williams had. He'd sat in the chair, mulling over the question, then stood and walked out. Lily had done her best to follow him, but she was unawakened, and he was in a mood. He left her behind in under a minute and took to the streets.

Alarion didn't go anywhere—so much as everywhere—wandering the streets in a spare cloak without destination. A few people recognized him through his shoddy disguise, but few approached him. Something about his expression, no doubt.

It was dark by the time he returned home, and there was no one waiting for him. Just an empty compound. He scrounged a handful of grapes from the pantry and made a vain attempt to rest. The bed was too soft and his mind was too fractured. He'd needed air.

Below, the city muttered to itself—the distant complaint of a wooden cart, a child's laugh, and a romantic song. These were the twilight hours after the markets closed, but before the taverns, brothels, and cafés reached their height. It was peaceful.

He counted three beats between each click of the spring as he stared at the ugly scar of the Old City, only barely visible under the moonlight.

He should have stayed there.

Then there were footsteps, the telltale click of heels announcing Lily's return long before she even reached the gate. It rattled as she closed it, and she lingered after she slid the lock home. Preparing herself.

"I am up here."

"Mother-!" Lily stomped her foot to release the tension of the sudden surprise. Her chin tipped up, searching for him in the darkness of the villa. He was a shadow against the stars, invisible until the click of his watch helped to guide her. She disappeared beneath him and arrived at the balcony door a minute later with her composure restored.

She stayed in the doorway, her silhouette framed in the light spilling from the hall, the rhythmic click-click-click of his fidgeting punctuating their silence. He had nothing to say, and Lily was clearly struggling with how to approach the conversation. He could hardly blame her.

"Did you do anything stupid?"

Click.

"Alarion."

"No."

She breathed a small sigh of relief and pushed off the doorframe. She plucked a grape from the tray she passed and took a seat on the far side of the railing.

"Was she right?"

Alarion's eyes snapped to hers. "You think I am responsible?"

"I think even you know you might be," she said. "You did not storm off because of the insinuation. And she has a point. Twice is a coincidence. That many times is a pattern."

"Soldiers die," he snapped. "So do refugees, and families in war zones. And arrogant Vitrian Houses."

"I am not blaming you."

"Your mother certainly did; she told the world I was a walking disaster!"

"And what if she is right?!" Lily retorted. "Do you want to bury your head in the sand?"

Alarion didn't answer with words, but with a yell of frustration. His fist tightened, and for a moment he considered throwing the watch into the courtyard below—just to see it break.

The thought had occurred to him, of course, during his hours-long walk. But it couldn't be true. Not because it was impossible, but because he could not bear it. He already carried so much guilt. Elena would be alive if she had never met him. Sierra would be alive. Erda and her daughters. Aina. It was bad enough what he'd done. But to know that it was more than just his actions, that it was something intrinsic, was too much. How could he ever trust himself?"

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"You should go."

"Alarion…"

"Go back to Vitria. If you are right, you need to get as far away from me as you can."

"I am not afraid of you," she said, even as her posture told a different story. For all her oratory strengths, she was mundane, and he was emotional. If he wanted to ruin something beautiful like his watch, he could destroy her just as easily. "We just need information. In the morning, I will ask Williams to reach out to a specialist. It is more than a mere coincidence; and a curse is the most likely culprit."

"Mm." That flash of anger had taken the fight out of him. He didn't want to argue; he wanted to sleep. Forever, if he could.

He didn't believe her. Alarion knew in his bones that the issue went deeper than that. He was the problem, but the System refused to tell him how or why until he properly understood.

"Are you safe to be alone?"

A flippant answer was on the tip of his tongue, but Lily's expression would have none of that. Worry glistened in her eyes, and he knew she would stay with him until dawn, if that was what it took.

"I will not do anything stupid."

Lily nodded, then stood.

"Good. Spending time with my mother is exhausting," she told him with a bit of her old verve returning. She closed the space between them and produced a thin black box from inside her bag. "Speaking of which, she asked me to give this to you. She had intended to do so herself."

"A gift?"

"From someone in Vitria. Mother would not tell me who."

Alarion reached out and took the box, setting it beside him on the railing. "If she let you hold it, it is probably not a bomb."

Lily paled.

"The idea never even crossed your mind, did it?"

"It did not," she admitted. "I do not know how you get through life where that is even an option."

"I do not have much choice."

"Are you going to open it?"

"In a bit. I want to just…" Alarion gestured to the glimmering city ahead of them.

"I understand." Lily leaned down and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. Weeks ago, the gesture might have sent his heart racing, but Alarion knew her better now. She was a creature of physical reassurance, and unprofessional or not, it was the only way she knew how to soothe his pain. "I am just down the hall if you need me. But please knock first."

He laughed for the first time in what felt like days and bobbed his head in agreement. "Sleep well."

The pulse of the city was rising as Alarion turned back to watch it. He could see people moving down busy thoroughfares, and hear the shouts and raunchy songs of the not-too-distant nightlife. He played with his watch for a few more minutes, but the numbness inside of him was gone, replaced with unanswered questions. "Do you think she is right, ZEKE?"

"The evidence is suggestive," the Steelborn's voice said from just over his shoulder. ZEKE had said nothing during Alarion's walk, but he had heard the whole exchange at the studio. Alarion knew his mentor cared, but ZEKE had always been solution-oriented. "And I can think of a few mechanisms by which it might be possible."

"Like what?"

"Something related to your luck," ZEKE suggested. "You have a flaw unaccounted for, after all."

"A moderate flaw," Alarion reminded him. His mind had gone the same way, but he knew there was more to it than that. "Besides, some of this happened before I Awakened."

"True. Some sort of trade-off, then?"

"Mm," Alarion answered, noncommittally. "Do you think it is related to my Aptitude?"

"I don't. If a ritual could produce a monster like you…" ZEKE trailed off as he realized too late how his casual taunt could be interpreted. "Rather, I didn't mean to call you-"

"I know what you meant," Alarion reassured him.

ZEKE's voice was more hesitant as he tried to pick up where he had left off. "If ritual could produce someone with your Aptitude, they wouldn't have stopped with you."

"Even if Eloim was dead?"

"As we have discussed before, I find it unlikely that it was working alone."

"So, we wait for this specialist Lily wants to find?" Alarion asked, picking up the box she had given him.

"I have almost restored the sympathetic connection to my Infinite Library. If there is an answer to be found in the System, something beyond unpleasant coincidence, I hope to… oh my."

"What is wrong?" Alarion asked.

"I do not understand how that woman produced such a pleasant daughter," ZEKE said with disgust. "You should throw that away."

Alarion opened it instead. As they both knew he would. ZEKE didn't even protest.

Inside the box was a knife resting on a bed of velvet. The lining had been cut to the blade's exact shape, a precise cradle that held the shining silver in a sea of darkness. It was an old weapon, with hairline scratches running down the fuller. There was a slight imperfection in the edge, a nick near the midpoint where steel had once met something it shouldn't have—bone.

Alarion knew what had left that mark. The wound in his side still hurt sometimes, especially when it rained.

There was only one thing unfamiliar about the straight, silver knife Sierra had once buried in his abdomen. An engraving.

It was ghostly faint, three words etched in neat, block letters along the flat of the blade.

Fated to Fight.

No, not etched, Alarion realized as he ran a finger along the blade. The words weren't carved into the metal—they weren't real at all. He reached out with [Unraveller's Sense] and saw the truth of things. There was a fresh enchantment on the blade, illusion magic twinned with a sympathetic component. It was robust, but tethered to him in such a way that Alarion untangled its purpose in mere moments.

The spell created an illusion linked to his sympathetic bond with the weapon, a spell that only he could interact with.

Alarion touched the pommel of the weapon and felt it siphon a few points of his MP. The mana swirled through the enchantment, its unique pattern acting as the key for complicated seals embedded in the silver. It was bespoke magic, crafted to conceal the message from prying eyes.

The first engraving faded, soon replaced with another.

Fated to Live.

"What is that magic?" ZEKE asked. With his mana senses newly restored by his reawakening, ZEKE could see the outer workings of the spell, but his attempts to delve deeper were soundly rebuffed.

Alarion fed the enchantment one final time. The inscription vanished, but the letters that replaced it were jagged and cruel, like words carved into a corpse.

Fated to Lose.

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