Zeke wandered through the streets of the Undercity, his mind burdened with the weight of what had transpired. He bought a new set of clothes, discarding his old ones, which had grown too small for him. The night before his departure, he retraced his steps through the city's alleys and corridors, trying to remember the version of it he'd first encountered. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, the memories seemed elusive, like the fragments of a life that no longer belonged to him.

All that was left were faint glimpses of moments he spent together with Elaine and Ulmak. The drills and sparing inside of the cave, the leisurely times they spent wandering the markets and local food stalls, the time they partied and got drunk on expensive wine Zeke took from Nolan.

Was it truly so bad the time they spent together? Was it not worth remembering at all? Or did Zeke simply break, shifting away from pleasantries, no longer able to accept the joys of an ordinary life?

In truth, there was no answer. He simply wandered the streets in search of himself, in search of something he lost while reaching his dreams. And the Undercity reflected that. The streets were clean and tidy, almost no criminals could be seen scouring the streets, robbing or mugging people. However, the streets were vacant and lost. The previously busy, robust atmosphere was replaced and usurped, leaving only vacant streets swept clean and lifeless.

You can't blame the residents. After the attacks and battles that happened recently, the people living within the Undercity opted to stay home when not working, leaving the city completely barren.

There was no answer to be found, only questions and the hollow ache of loss. As he strolled through the Undercity, it felt like the streets mirrored his state of mind—once full of life, now eerily quiet and devoid of the raucous energy that used to define them. The streets were spotless, almost unnaturally clean, but the life had drained away. The criminals that once roamed, the gangs that had given the Undercity its edge—all were gone. What remained was a city emptied of its heart, its people hiding away from the violence that had scarred it.

Zeke turned into an alley where Bertold the weapon-smith had lived, his feet guiding him almost on instinct. The old man had been gruff and irritable at first, but beneath that hardened exterior, Zeke had found a heart that beat for those struggling to survive in the harsh underbelly of this forsaken city. Zeke knelt down, lighting a small candle in memory of the man's noble deeds. A flickering flame that barely cut through the darkness—much like Bertold's brief but powerful presence.

He wondered what would become of Bertold's workshop now that the old man was gone. Would it be looted by the desperate, or would someone rise to take on the mantle? A weapon-smith was always needed in the Undercity, especially one with Bertold's skill. The thought lingered as Zeke stood, his eyes tracing the familiar paths of the city.

The lights, once hated for their garish brightness, now carried a strange sense of peace. They cycled through colors as the hours passed, guiding Zeke like quiet sentinels on his farewell journey. Soon, he reached the Gun-barrel, its sign swaying gently in the stale air. He stared at it, memories rushing forward like the crest of a wave. Brutal fights, clandestine meetings, and drunken nights—all woven into the fabric of this place. This bar had seen the best and worst of him.

The door creaked open, and he was greeted by the unexpected sound of confetti bursting into the air, followed by the blare of party horns. The core crew of District 7 had gathered to send him off. Calisto stood at the back, her hands softly clapping, her eyes warm and knowing. Isaac, with tears streaming down his face, rushed at Zeke, hugging him too tightly, as if afraid he'd slip away.

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"You'll come back, right? Promise me you will!" Isaac's voice cracked as he buried his face into Zeke's jacket, his tears dampening the fabric.

"I'm not sure," Zeke chuckled, his voice soft as he ruffled Isaac's hair, pulling him close in a brotherly embrace. "Maybe someday."

Isaac sniffled, stepping back, wiping his tears. "It's weird, seeing you without your mask."

Hanna's laughter echoed from the corner. "I forgot you weren't there during the Cradle of Fools, Isaac. Back then, he was just a scared little kid, completely lost in the Undercity."

"Hey! That's not how you say goodbye to your boss!" Zeke shot back, deadpan, though the corners of his mouth twitched with amusement.

"Oh? I'm still mad you never took me on that second date," Hanna teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Guilty as charged. I owe you one next time," Zeke grinned, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.

Hanna stepped closer, her arms wrapping gently around him. For a moment, Zeke felt his heart quiver as he looked down at her, feeling the warmth of her embrace. Her breath was soft against his neck.

"You better keep that promise," she whispered, her voice tinged with something more than just affection. She leaned in, planting a soft kiss on his cheek.

Zeke's face flushed, her touch lingering long after she pulled away. He felt the warmth of it seep into his skin, a sensation both unsettling and tender.

"Wet," Zeke thought, his heart racing slightly.

Calisto beckoned him into the back room, where the sounds of the celebration faded into a dull hum. Once inside, she began undoing her hair, letting it cascade down in its full dark glory, transforming from the elderly matron into the youthful beauty she had once been.

"Why don't you stay like that?" Zeke asked, genuinely curious.

Calisto shook her head, her smile bittersweet. "Why would I? If they saw me as I am, they'd try to woo me with gifts, with shallow attempts to impress. I don't need that. I prefer them to see me as Calisto—the wise, nurturing old woman. That's who I am to them."

She stepped toward a chair in the center of the room. "Come here. I'll cut that mop on your head. You can't go back looking like a wild animal."

"It's not that bad," Zeke chuckled, though he ran his fingers through his tangled hair.

"Sit," Calisto ordered, her tone leaving no room for debate.

Zeke obliged, sinking into the chair as she draped a linen cloth over him. She worked in silence, the snip of the scissors rhythmic and comforting. Her scent filled the air, an aroma of springtime forests and blooming flowers—foreign yet familiar, like a dream of a world long lost. It was the smell of freedom, of life beyond the city walls, a life stolen from humans.

"Antonio disappeared after the Knights incident," Calisto said quietly as she trimmed his hair.

"He's always been like that," Zeke replied, his voice soft, distant. "He never liked me, never respected me as a leader. It's no surprise he's not here."

Calisto's voice was a warning now, her tone heavy. "Be careful. Enemies are like weeds—the longer you let them fester, the harder they are to uproot."

"I won't kill him," Zeke said with a quiet smile.

Calisto finished, stepping back and handing him a mirror. Zeke stared at the reflection—a different man stared back. His face had matured, the softness of youth hardened into something sharper, more defined. His hair, now styled in a sleek undercut, framed his face perfectly.

"Wow, you're good at this," Zeke admired.

"I know," Calisto said with a smile, her voice motherly and affectionate.

Suddenly, the room shifted. The walls dissolved into shadowy caverns, a cold wind sweeping through as Calisto's voice echoed, otherworldly. "Now go, my sweet boy. Lower Babel awaits its new master."

"Thank you," Zeke murmured, a warmth filling his chest as he stepped out.

He walked for what felt like several minutes until he reached the exit. Antonio was there, waiting, his face a mask of grim determination.

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