"Tell me what you see." the voice of Maros called out to Jett.

"A vast, empty plane. Only the ground is made of mud, and a foggy mist surrounds me." Jett replied, engrossed in his Soul Realm.

"What do you see in the sky?"

"It's entirely white, all I see are black specks. They blink like the stars."

Maros paused, sinking into his thoughts. "That there, Jett, is the Soul you've taken from others. A blank canvas, that which you paint with life. That is where power comes from."

'An empty canvas for me to paint…'

"So what does your sky look like, sir?" Jett asked, still in a daze, exploring his inner world.

"Not nearly as bright as yours," Maros depraved chuckled. "Tell me, is there a pond or mirror around you?"

Jett looked around, searching for a mirror.

Then something appeared. It hadn't been there before, but it was there. As if it had always been there.

He quickly walked up to it.

"It isn't exactly a mirror. It's a thick sheet of metal standing up, the same metal as the Storm Warden's armor."

"Look at it, tell me what you see," Maros asked.

"I see nothing but the mud and mist behind me," Jett replied.

"What do you want in this life, Jett?"

Jett stood perfectly still in his Soul Realm, staring at the reflective metal.

The same metal which forced him into the life of an animal, and kept him there as he spent every waking hour surviving.

The same mirror that bore no reflection, unseen by the metal.

"I want … to live as a man. To never experience that primal carnage, the desperation, the fear. I've had my fill." Jett solemnly admitted through gritted teeth.

There was one thing Jett wanted, one thing he found wise not to share with Maros.

Jett felt a gripping, fiery pull of revenge, retribution, and justice.

When someone wronged you as a human, it felt natural to desire revenge.

But this basic desire had been stripped from him since birth.

The entirety of Strata had wronged Shacktown, yet they were powerless to right those wrongs.

If Jett wanted to live a life of man, the natural course dictated he go against all of Strata, uprooting the entire Kingdom.

That included Maros and many of Strata's innocent.

When Jett deliberated this, his broken moral compass still knew that this thinking was flawed.

He needed more time to understand, to learn the systems that kept Shacktown shackled.

Maros continued to think in silence before responding.

"From birth, you have learned that nothing will be given to you unless you earn it. This will not change. Everything I give you will be earned."

His statements would appear heavy-handed to most, but to Jett, this was anything but.

Jett would continue to compare his new life with his old, always the pragmatic.

Maros knew that very well. Jett could tell Maros was using this against him, but it made little difference now.

It was what might happen in the future that truly scared Jett. Currently, Maros owned his entire life, regardless of right or wrong.

Giving him the illusion of choice and freedom was mercy compared to the alternative of force.

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"Show me you can enter and exit your Soul Realm consistently," Maros said.

'Where's the exit…'

As Jett thought, his eyes glazed, then they refocused.

He was still staring at the reflection of the metal sheet.

In the metal sheet, he could see the circular door of the Shacks.

Turning around, Jett walked over to the familiar circular door, opened it, and stepped through.

As he stepped through, he was instantly swept away by a powerful wind.

Opening his eyes, he was back in the foyer, the middle-aged Maros standing above with a keen eye.

"Now enter again."

Visualization was key; Jett followed the same method he used earlier to enter.

With closed eyes, he imagined a still image.

A pitch-black alley shrouding a gory amalgam of a broken corpse.

Opening his eyes, he had reentered the foggy white world.

He quickly exited the same way, being swept off his feet by the wind.

"Good," Maros outstretched his hand, pulling Jett up to his feet.

"Today, you have earned the right to sleep under my roof and eat my food. Tomorrow you will have to earn it again."

***

Joanne, the housekeeper, escorted Jett to his room on the second floor.

Joanne was a woman of older age, her black hair tied neatly behind her head.

Despite her neutral demeanor and slow tempo, she radiated a happy warmth.

She said as little as possible, which melded well with Jett.

His social skills were—quite honestly—terrible.

However, he compensated for his weakness through careful observation and great effort.

'Now I've truly hit the afterlife.'

Jett dipped himself into the embrace of a warm bath, an undescribable pleasure flooding his brain. A lifetime of filth, washed away by the great wooden tub.

'Maybe Maros is a proper liar, this is way more than just a roof to sleep under and food to eat.'

He changed into proper clothes, and his once greasy, shaggy hair began to show hidden waves with a long length down to his neck.

With a shaving knife and the washroom's mirror, Jett savagely removed over half of his total hair.

He had truly become a man now. Nothing like the savagery of his past.

This… was everything Jett wanted and more.

A massive bed, fit for a king, sat upon by a lowly being.

He had it all. He had made it out of Shacktown.

And there he lay, on a bed worth severalfold more than he had ever acquired, let alone seen.

A blissful tranquillity filled his pleased mind as he closed his eyes, drifting along a river of happiness, soaking its waters in through his pores.

But something was lurking beneath the river.

Complacency, doubt, failure, the old life he left behind.

The spirit of Shacktown wrapped its clutches around his feet, a heavy weight sinking him down to the riverbed, drowning him in its depths.

Jett desperately reached above him, flailing his arms to grab anything he could.

Then a sharp pain stuck through his palm.

The drowning boy was rapidly pulled to the river's surface.

It was the metal hook of a massive fisherman that stuck straight into Jett's hand.

His palm bled profusely.

The fisherman grabbed Jett by his other hand, offering to bring him aboard the pier.

Yet he never pulled. Jett hung above the river.