A mist veiled Byzantine spires as if Venice itself was exhaling a sigh of relief as Nico Paolo stepped onto a worn stone dock. His eyes were fixed on the sunlit gondola waiting to transport him from the City of Water. With a swift motion, he leapt aboard, his dark cloak fluttering behind him like a startled crow's wing.

"Argento, Nightmarian," the tricenarian gondolier gruffed, his voice slicingh through the mist.

Nico's hand quickly went to the pouch in his pocket, the sterling coins wrapped in cloth. Shaking off a hallucination of his own mother, he handed over the coins, the burning sensation in that hand a familiar penance for the horrors he inflicted.

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"You're a bold one, Puppeteer of Imagination, handling silver like that," the gondolier half-praised before spitting phlegm into the water.

Nico winced as the silver's burning sensation spread through his veins. "Will you let it tarnish in your clutch, Pontumancer?"

Surprisingly amused, the gondolier snorted! "I'll keep the coins clean, Giovanotto. Don't you worry."

His gaze drifting back to the receding silhouette of Venice, the teen settled into the gondolier’s shadow as they set off. The city's grandeur faded into the distance, leaving behind the whispers of il Giovane Incubo’s foulest deeds.