The bitter tang of grass against my lips pulls me from unconsciousness, its sour flavor lingering unpleasantly on my tongue. My eyelids flutter open, and the first thing I register is the faint rustle of the wind and the uneven texture of the earth beneath me. A sharp contrast to the sterile emptiness I last experienced, like I’ve been pulled into a different reality entirely.

This isn’t the town I remember. The streets, the buildings, even the air feels foreign. Everything is too bright, too vivid, too... alive. As I rise to my feet, my surroundings come into sharper focus. People move past me, their curious eyes lingering just long enough to unsettle me before they carry on, muttering words I barely catch, their dialect dancing in the air. There’s an unfamiliar rhythm to it all, a foreign melody that does nothing to soothe the unease simmering in my chest.

"Where am I?" The words escape my mouth, hoarse and disoriented, as I push myself up on trembling elbows. I feel the weight of the world pressing down on me, but I have no clear sense of why. My memories are scattered, fleeting—Hikoki’s laughter, the sweet indulgence of chocolate, and then… nothing. A void. And now, this.

The language, the signs, the animated voices around me—they all point to one conclusion: Italy. But the city? Unclear. I scan the streets, hoping to catch a clue, but nothing rings familiar. The architecture, the air—everything feels like a strange dream, like I’m walking through the scenes of a story that hasn’t yet found its end.

Whatever happened, at least I am alive and that means my vacation is still going on. Either way I was planning to go around the world so Hikoki really saved me the trouble of getting here. For now, I’ll hold off on burning your soul in hell, Hikoki.

I pretend to be just another lost tourist after a night of drinks, making the transition easier with the people around. I slip my hand to my pocket and grab one of my gadgets out. A jackpot, this little machine creates currency needed for the occasion.

“Good. Now I don't have to worry about the money.”

First thing’s first: Find Rome. If I’m in Italy, it’s only right that I go there. That’s the goal.

I start walking, scanning the streets as I look for any sign of direction. That’s when I hear it—the sound of a woman’s laughter, light and carefree, floating toward me from a nearby café. It’s not the kind of laugh that demands attention, but the kind that quietly attracts it, pulling you in without effort. Intrigued, I turn instinctively, my eyes locking onto her.

She stands just outside the café, talking animatedly with the barista, her dark hair cascading down her shoulders. The sun catches it, turning it into a halo of warmth. Her smile is effortless, like it’s always there, a part of her nature. There’s something about her, an aura of confidence, but not the kind that screams for recognition. It’s the kind that subtly draws people in, that makes you want to linger a little longer, as if you’ve stumbled upon something special without even realizing it.

The way she moves with purpose, her energy undeniable, even in the quiet of the moment. She isn’t trying to stand out, yet everything about her commands attention.

Maybe I’m imagining it, or maybe it’s something else. I can’t quite place it, but I want to test it. Test her. Maybe she’s the key I was trying to find. The person in charge to make the impossible possible or maybe is my mind playing tricks on me.

Her gaze meets mine, and for a moment, the world slows. She raises an eyebrow, a mischievous grin curling at the corners of her lips. It’s knowing, the kind of smile someone gives when they’ve already read you like an open book, when they know they’ve caught your attention.

She is starting to move towards me with confidence knowing no match.

"I suppose I’m interesting enough to make you stare," she says, her voice light, teasing, "or maybe you’re lost in thought, trying to figure out how to navigate this beautiful city?"

I take a measured step toward her, closing the space between us just enough to make the conversation feel personal, yet not threatening. My eyes scan her, but I make sure it’s subtle—picking apart her every movement, her posture, the way she breathes. A person’s body language says far more than their words ever will.

"You’re right about one thing," I reply, my voice low, deliberate. "I am trying to navigate this city. But I’m not just trying to find the streets. I’m trying to find something else." I let the pause hang in the air, just long enough for curiosity to spike in her eyes. "Qualcosa… di intrigante."(Something… intriguing.)

It’s a carefully crafted line, a subtle attempt to shift the power dynamic. I want her to feel like she’s a puzzle I’m intent on solving, a game I’m willing to play. It’s a tactic I’ve honed over centuries of interactions. Subtlety, patience, control. She thinks she’s in charge right now, but I’m good at making people forget that, even if just for a moment.

Her grin falters ever so slightly, as though she’s not sure whether she should be flattered or wary. She adjusts the strap of her bag, and I notice how her fingers linger on the leather—a small gesture, but revealing. She’s calculated, thoughtful. It’s the same careful observation I’ve perfected, and that only intrigues me further.

"Intriguing?" she echoes, her tone light, but with an edge. "What’s intriguing is your fluent accent. I guess you’re not a typical tourist, then."

"Far from it." I let the words roll off my tongue with a hint of mystery. "I find that most people here are busy with their own lives, lost in their own world. But you..." I let my gaze shift slightly, allowing it to linger on her as I take in the way the sunlight catches her hair, the way she holds herself with such quiet authority. "You stand out. Not just in the way you look, but in the way you move. As if the world is waiting for you to make the next move. It’s… interesting."

She shifts her weight slightly, but not enough to suggest discomfort—more like she’s measuring me, trying to decide whether to engage or retreat. I can almost hear the wheels turning in her mind. I’m not sure what she’s expecting, but I know I have to keep her attention. Push, but not too hard.

"You think I’m some kind of mystery, then?" she asks, her voice teasing, but there’s something more—something deeper, like she’s inviting me to play.

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"Everyone has their secrets," I reply smoothly, "and I’m not one to resist uncovering them. But some mysteries are worth savoring. What’s the rush, right?" I offer a small smile, calculated, confident.

"You seem like the type who enjoys a good chase," she says, her voice dropping lower, almost to a whisper.

I tilt my head, considering her for a moment. "I don’t chase," I say, my tone hardening slightly, just enough to make her wonder what I mean. "I observe. I wait for the right moment."

I take a step closer, this time letting my intentions be clear. "Maybe you could show me the way," I suggest, my voice low, smooth. "I could use a guide. And who knows, maybe we could enjoy the beauty of the country together."

Her eyes flicker with something deeper—interest, hesitation, or perhaps something else entirely. She’s playing the game, but I know I’m in control now. Slowly, I see the cracks in her mask, the subtle signs that she’s considering my offer.

"I suppose I could," she says finally, her voice soft but filled with something that could almost be amusement. "But only if you promise not to make me regret it."

"Regret?" I echo, a small smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. "I’m not the kind to leave regrets behind. Only experiences."

She holds my gaze for a moment longer, then finally breaks eye contact, her lips curving into a smile. "By the way, I’m Alessia."

I nod, my eyes glinting with the same intrigue. "Azazel."

"Then see you tomorrow, Azazel"

"Sure," I reply with a small smile. She reaches for her phone, quickly adding me to her contacts.

"Send me a message with your address," I say as she nods, her fingers tapping effortlessly on the screen.

Before slowly departing, her gaze lingering on me for a moment longer. The exchange feels natural, though neither of us has any intention of revealing the full truth of who we are. Names, after all, are only the beginning.

----------------------------------------

As agreed yesterday, Alessia has graciously offered to be my guide, and now we're on our way to Rome. Somehow, she’s managed to secure a limousine for the journey.

Inside the luxurious vehicle, I take a sip of my drink, savoring the warmth as it spreads through me. Across from me, Alessia sits composed, her eyes fixed on me with a curious intensity. There’s something about her gaze—like she’s silently challenging me, waiting for my next move.

"So, Azazel," she says, breaking the silence. "What do you think about the state of the world these days? Politics, philosophy... does it even matter to someone like you?" She smirks, clearly testing my thoughts, probing for weaknesses.

I lean back, considering her question carefully. There’s something about her challenge that intrigues me. "It matters, of course," I say slowly. "The world runs on systems of control. But it’s not the politics that interest me—it’s the manipulation of people, the way leaders craft narratives to bend the masses to their will."

Her eyes glint with interest. "Manipulation? That’s quite the accusation. Aren’t you a little cynical for someone who likes to follow?" obviously trying to tease me to unfocus my next answer.

I let out a soft laugh, my gaze unwavering. "Following a guide doesn’t mean naivety. “

Her expression falters, but only for a moment. "But isn’t there more to life than just control? What about ethics? What about morality?"

I pause, savoring the challenge. "Ethics are subjective. What one person sees as ethical, another might see as immoral. Morality is often just a tool used to justify power. The people in charge dictate the moral standards, and those who are subordinate follow because they’ve been taught to. But it doesn’t mean those standards are universal."

Alessia leans in, her gaze narrowing slightly as she tries to counter my argument. "But there’s a universal truth, isn’t there? Humanity can agree on what’s wrong and right."

"That’s a dangerous illusion," I counter smoothly. "What’s ‘right’ is subjective. Look at history—empires, rulers, even entire civilizations. They all defined what was ‘right’ according to their needs. What the world chooses to uphold today as moral may very well change tomorrow."

"Alright, I see your point," she admits after a beat, sitting back in her chair, clearly recalculating her position. "But you can’t deny that people need some sort of framework to live by. And there’s more to human nature than just control. Look at the company I run—if I only saw people as pawns to be manipulated, I wouldn’t be successful."

I lean forward slightly, curious. "A company huh?" I ask, my voice tinged with interest. "That’s... a fascinating answer."

She nods, a slight pride in her expression. "It’s more than just money, Azazel. It’s about the people behind it—the bakers, the suppliers, the customers. I’ve built my company by recognizing that people want quality, consistency, and trust. Yes, I manage them, but I understand them. If you want to lead, you don’t just push people around. You make them believe in what you’re doing, and they’ll follow you. It’s about the relationship."

I can’t help but smile a little at her words. Somehow we changed from manipulation to an economic topic.

I tilt my head, acknowledging the subtle shift in the conversation. "That’s true. But what you offer them isn’t always what they want—it’s what they need. The question is, what happens when someone offers them something that they think they need, but it’s really just part of a bigger game?"

She hesitates for a second, clearly weighing the philosophical depth of my point. "That’s a dangerous game," she says, her tone soft but deliberate. "But I suppose, in the end, everyone is playing one, aren’t they?"

I nod slightly, acknowledging the truth in her words. "Everyone’s playing a game," I say, my voice calm, my eyes locking with hers. "The trick is knowing how to play it. And when to play it."

"Well, Azazel," she says finally, leaning back again with a smile that’s a little more genuine, "I have to admit, you’ve given me something to think about."

"I aim to," I reply smoothly, taking another sip of my drink. "After all, conversation is a battle of minds, and I don’t lose often."

Alessia leans back in her chair, her fingers tapping lightly on the rim of her glass. Her smile softens, no longer just a playful challenge, but something more thoughtful, more intrigued. She studies me for a moment, as if weighing her next words carefully.

"You know," she says, her tone shifting slightly, "I didn’t expect to enjoy this conversation as much as I have. It’s rare to meet someone who actually challenges me." She pauses, eyes narrowing with intent.

Suddenly, the limousine comes to a halt. Through the tinted windows, I notice flashing lights ahead—the police are blocking off areas, preventing any vehicles from leaving the city.

If I am not wrong it might be due to the fields that activate a few hours ago, something in this city is happening and they are protecting themselves. Based on Alessia reactions it seems normal humans are not aware of the field.

"I guess the fun is over," I remark, my tone light but tinged with disappointment.

Alessia leans back, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "I didn’t expect this," she admits, "but maybe we can continue tomorrow—at my place."

"Sure" The only thing left now is the promise of tomorrow—a night that, I suspect, will be even more intriguing.