I woke up earlier than usual, the dawn barely breaking through the darkness. Today was no ordinary day. I had the award ceremony ahead of me, followed by the funeral rites for Mannes. I didn’t want to be late for either. The weight of both events pressed heavily on my mind. Mannes—he wasn’t just a friend, but more like family to me, a mentor. The thought of his passing stirred memories of my own family’s funeral. It was as if all those old emotions I thought I had buried were rushing back at once.

I gathered Silvana and a few other recruits who wished to participate in the ceremony, and we made our way to the city hall. The streets of Lageta were still eerily quiet. The air was crisp, but there was a lingering dampness from the rain the night before. As we approached the gates, I presented Garios’ letter. The guards allowed us through without much fuss, and we made our way toward the town hall.

When we arrived, a bald man, likely in his sixties, sat on a decorated chair in the center of the room. His disinterested eyes scanned me lazily, and without so much a word, he handed me the medal. That was it. That was the ceremony I had been expecting would involve some acknowledgment or recognition. No praise, no applause, not even a proper gathering. I stood there, stunned, my expectations crushed. This was how they rewarded us? A small, almost dismissive ceremony with no fanfare whatsoever.

A man approached me before I could dwell too long on my disappointment. He was dressed in an expensive tunic, so I assumed he was someone of importance. He instructed the others to head directly to Mannes’ rites outside the city, but then turned to me specifically, gesturing for me to follow him. “You’ll come with me,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. Though his face was unfamiliar, I decided to trust him, albeit with a sense of caution gnawing at the back of my mind.

He led me to a place that looked out of place in this medieval world—a sophisticated establishment, more like a modern-day café where nobles would gather to sip on fine tea or coffee. I entered cautiously, and there, at a table, sat a woman who I felt I had seen before. There was something familiar about her, but I couldn’t quite place it. As I met her gaze, she smiled warmly at first, as if recognizing me. But then, just as quickly, her smile faded, replaced by a more serious expression. She stood up from her seat gracefully.

“I heard they’re preparing for Mannes’ rites on the outskirts. We should hurry,” she said, breaking the silence. “I’ll talk to you on the way.”

The shift in her demeanor was strange. She had been the one who brought me here, but now she was acting as if time was running out. Without another word, she began walking, and I followed, though my mind raced with questions. Why had she brought me here, and what did she want?

We walked in silence for a while, her steps quick but purposeful. Just when I thought she wasn’t going to say anything else, she suddenly stopped at a pottery shop along the way. She turned to me with a curious look in her eyes. “Do you remember me?” she asked.

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I racked my brain, but nothing came to mind. These past few days had been a blur, filled with grief, ceremonies, and battles. Trying to recall every face I had seen was impossible. “I’m sorry,” I admitted. “I might be forgetting… When did we meet exactly?”

She paused, seemingly disappointed by my answer. “We should buy some pots,” she said flatly.

Her response took me by surprise. A pot? Why would I need to buy a pot? I was more confused than ever. “For what?” I asked.

Her eyes narrowed as she looked directly at me, her gaze cold and piercing. “If you’re pretending to be an imperial citizen,” she said, her voice low, “you should at least learn the culture.”

I could feel my pulse quicken. It was as if she had seen right through me. I wanted to explain, to argue, but she raised a finger to my lips, signaling for silence. Her expression left no room for questions, and I swallowed whatever protest I had. Whoever this woman was, she knew too much—more than I was comfortable with. And her ability to unsettle me with just a look made my skin crawl. It was almost as if she knew that I didn’t belong in this world.

As we walked toward the outskirts of the city, where Mannes’ cremation rites were to be held, she finally broke the silence. Her voice was calm, almost detached, as she explained the intricacies of the Empire’s funeral rites. She described how Mannes’ body had been washed with olive oil the day before and adorned with flowers. Today, we would offer him gifts—objects that would be useful to him in the afterlife. She explained that cremations were always held outside the city to avoid the risk of fire hazards.

Her behavior was erratic. A few moments ago, she had given me the coldest, most unsettling look I’d ever seen, and now she was chatting away like a child, talking about funerary customs as if it were the most natural thing in the world. This woman—whoever she was—was not normal. Her constant shifts in mood, and her sudden coldness followed by childlike explanations, made me wary of her intentions. I kept my guard up, unsure of what her endgame was.

As the funeral proceeded, everything went exactly as she had described. We offered the pots we had purchased, placing them alongside Mannes’ body. The air was thick with the scent of burning incense, mingling with the faint, sweet smell of olive oil. The crackling of the fire soon followed as the flames began to consume the wood and, eventually, Mannes' body. The heat from the pyre washed over us, but it did little to warm the chill that had settled deep in my bones.

As the ceremony neared its end, the woman beside me removed the cloth covering her short hair, revealing more of her face. She reached into her purse and pulled out a bracelet—a simple piece of jewelry that I instantly recognized. The memory hit me like a bolt of lightning.

“You’re that girl…,” I started, my voice trailing off as the realization dawned. “The one I met in the shop… I remember now. That bracelet... I wasn’t wrong it suits you.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them, but she looked unphased at me. “Augustus,” she said, her tone steady, “I am not just a girl. My name is Sora.”