"… I did this?" he whispered.

'No, it isn't!'

If Lenko was here, he would've jumped in immediately and gone on a whole tirade about how none of it was the tenth prince's fault. He would've insisted, loudly and stubbornly, that Muzio couldn't be blamed for any part of this storm.

But Lenko wasn't here.

And the only people around him weren't even looking at him, weren't even paying him the slightest attention. No one said a word, yet the silence itself was answer enough.

Even his younger self, who would normally be the first to scoff or argue back, said nothing. No mocking. No judgment. Just a look, a too-knowing, too-familiar look that said...

'You already know the answer. Why ask?'

It was irritating seeing that expression on 'his own face,' especially when he had Aisha slung over one shoulder and Mr. Genevra hauled up by the collar, half-strangled, just to keep the unconscious bastard from slipping.

Keiser stared at them both and could only think

'Okay, rude. He literally just woke the fuck up from a second death.'

'Could they at least pretend to be supportive? Gods, meeting yourself isn't inspiring at all, it's just a direct invitation to wring your own neck.'

But before he could take even a single step forward, before he could demand an explanation from either of them, the elf stepped in front of him.

Althira stepped ahead, blocking his path with a deceptively casual stance.

"You seem well enough to walk," she said quietly. "We need to leave."

Her voice was calm, but her eyes weren't. They were sharp, darting toward the growing cluster of knights gathering at the edge of the ruins. The number of them was increasing by the minute, armor clanking, weapons drawn, all of them closing in.

She was wary of them, of him, specifically. The captain of the royal brigades. And with good reason.

Keiser finally noticed what had changed, her hair color was different from earlier. Not drastically, but subtly enough to blend. The clothes she wore, once pristine, clean, very much not something found in a wreckage like this one, now looked torn, dusted with debris, as though she'd been fighting with the rest of them.

She must have realized it the same moment he did.

Althira was no fool. If she kept her earlier appearance, untouched and unblemished, she would stand out immediately. If she changed too much, entire boy shift, that would be even worse.

Sir Keiser, he, would notice. Even from a distance, a sudden shift in someone's outline, posture, or the vague blur of a figure was enough to trigger suspicion.

So she had chosen the only option, subtle changes. Small enough to go unnoticed by most, but enough to disguise herself amidst the everything.

Even so, the captain's golden eyes had already narrowed at her, studying her face as though trying to put a name to it. He wasn't convinced. Not yet.

And definitely not fully fooled.

But the knights closed in, their shouts echoing, their disbelief at the ruin plain to hear.

So Keiser knew he had no choice, they needed to leave. Now.

If they stayed even a moment longer and got tangled in the knights' questions, everything he'd worked for would unravel.

All the effort he poured into preventing today's disaster would mean nothing if the court of nobles found a loophole to spare Mr. Genevra yet again.

They had to be gone before anyone could pin them to the scene.

But Keiser's gaze drifted past the elf and caught on the white-haired man moving through the ruins.

He wasn't rushing.

He wasn't stumbling.

He was simply… walking, angling his body through collapsed beams and uneven piles of rubble as if navigating a mildly inconvenient trail. Each step was measured, balanced, unbothered by the destruction around him.

Keiser felt something tighten in his chest.

If he still had his body, his true strength, this kind of terrain would be nothing. A breeze.

Sheol had trained him on far worse. He'd crossed grounds where the sand turned to quicksand after dusk, swallowing anything that dared rest on its surface.

He had once sprinted across dunes that writhed with the slithering shapes of beasts hidden beneath, waiting to drag prey into the shifting depths.

Compared to that, this shattered building was child's play.

But he wasn't in his old body.

He couldn't help the flicker of envy twisting in his chest as he watched 'himself' move so effortlessly across the ruins. And the moment the white-haired captain gave him another glance, that feeling only deepened.

"I heard you mentioned making this man…"

He lifted Mr. Genevra like he weighed nothing, shaking the unconscious noble once, almost dismissively, as if Mr. Genevra wasn't an unconcious full-grown man.

"…accountable for everything."

The captain's golden eyes narrowed, sharp and assessing.

"I'd say you're the one pulling the threads here, kid. Even back in Hinnom." His gaze tracked him, unwavering. "You're one unlucky spawn of the king. I'm sure I'll see you right in the middle of another incident soon enough."

There was no accusation in his tone, just certainty. A resigned expectation, as if Keiser attracting trouble was already a fact just because it happened... twice?

"I don't trust you," he said bluntly, "or any of this."

He shifted Genevra's weight easily, lowering his voice just enough for only their group to hear.

"But I'll get my answers. Maybe not today…"

His gaze flicked to the approaching knights, then back to Keiser.

"…but soon."

And with that, the man's attention left him entirely.

Keiser finally let out a breath of relief.

He guessed the whole using his 'full name' had worked, not to mention the extra effort he put into matching his old handwriting.

With a different hand, different strength, and a different way his fingers carried the weight of the quill, he'd managed to recreate the same chaotic scrawl he'd always had.

A mess, but a familiar one.

"…see you soon, kid," the white-haired man called back one last time.

He watched as Sir Keiser climbed onto a higher platform, moving as if the unstable wreckage were no different from the solid ground. A moment later, the shouts of the royal brigade reached them, soldiers calling for his name.

Nostalgia washed over him, soft and sharp all at once.

How close he was now, to his old life, to the version of himself that still existed. His chest tightened, a painful knot forming in his throat.

His body ached, no, Muzio's body ached, but none of that compared to the strange, overwhelming familiarity creeping into him.

Beside him, the elven sighed.

"Come on, little prince," she drawled. "Your companions are already awake…"

She pointed, downwards.

Keiser's emotional haze shattered instantly.

He followed her gesture, eyes widening in horror.

"…You didn't leave my companions trapped under all this, did you?" he asked, voice cracking between disbelief and dread.

The elf only grinned back at him, unbothered.

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