It took Kyro about an hour and a half to walk from the northern slums to the eastern outskirts of the Ashen District. It would’ve been quicker if he wasn’t injured and trying not to overexert himself.

Also, the eastern slums were a fucking labyrinth. Paths twisted, dead-ended, or looped back on themselves, as though designed by a madman.

You’d think after three years I’d be used to the madness, Kyro thought. But he wasn’t—not these maze-like parts, anyway.

Normally, he would’ve taken the six a.m. train to the CBD, but it was nearing noon. Not only had the train left, but it wouldn’t return until late in the evening.

That left only one option: walking. Southeasterly, for about seven kilometers, until he reached the city center.

Times like this, I really wish I’d been born a sorcerer, Kyro thought as he approached the edge of the Ashen District.

A broken fence and a dying tree marked the boundary of a steep, crumbling slope. Beyond that lay a desolate wasteland.

Or at least a city normie.

City normies—non-sorcerers who lived in New Taranis—had access to the best tech modern sorcery could offer: super-fast communication devices and reliable teleportation services.

Granted, their access was monitored, restrictive, and expensive, but it was still something.

“Oh, the things I’d do for a teleporter right now,” Kyro groaned, stopping at the top of the slope and staring at the barren landscape below.

“How much for the destination without the journey?” he muttered, surprised at how condescending he sounded.

Could be worse, I guess…

He could’ve died. But he didn’t. That had to count for something.

Sighing, Kyro tightened his grip on his backpack. The familiar weight grounded him as he scanned the wasteland for movement.

The slums were behind him, but the desolation ahead was no less unsettling—a ghost town frozen in time.

The ruins stretched for miles, crumbling, blackened, and silent—like tombstones in a forgotten graveyard. Piles of debris littered the ground, overgrown with twisted, scraggly weeds. Even the earth itself was treacherous—jagged, uneven, and pocked with craters.

Ruinstead Town—or “Old Taranis,” as Malthus liked to call it—was one of the last remnants of the Sorcerer Wars, cataclysmic battles that had ravaged the continent a century ago.

Most people wouldn’t dare set foot here, let alone wander through alone. But Kyro wasn’t most people. After getting bored one too many times in the past, he had memorized the layout of the ruins, and now he knew them like the back of his hand—at least, the uninhabited parts.

As long as I stay away from the left wing, I’ll be fine.

Most of the threats people feared, like thieves, murderers, and mutant creatures, came out at night. Mostly.

“But just in case, I have my kni—” Kyro smacked his forehead. “Ah, shit.”

Right. His knife was gone. Nia Soren had been very thorough in leaving no evidence.

My knife’s probably buried in a ditch somewhere, or bagged as evidence in an ongoing high-profile case at the NTSB…

Kyro gulped.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Whatever. It’s not like I’ve never been through here unarmed before. He had—plenty of times, more than he should care to admit.

“Yeah. This’ll be like clockwork.” Without further ado, Kyro slid down the slope into the ruins. His body spasmed slightly, but the episodes had been happening less frequently. The last one was over an hour ago.

He settled into a brisk but steady pace—fast, but not so fast that he’d tire himself out.

I could just go straight to the Sorcerers Bureau and tell them everything, he mused as he passed between two shattered pillars, leaning against each other like drunks, likely the old entrance to the town. Pillars were a big thing in the Old Empire. Not so much today.

That would certainly nip this whole situation in the bud. My part in it, at least.

The story wasn’t that complicated: He’d come home from work late, found his place broken into, and recognized the intruder as the fugitive from the news. After a brief, tense exchange, he attacked her—a big mistake on his part, because he woke up days later, in pain, with a strange message in his head.

I didn’t do anything wrong.

Contra. If he went to the authorities, he’d be seen as an upright citizen who’d gotten in over his head—nothing wrong with that.

Maybe I could even claim the bounty if they haven’t caught her yet, Kyro thought, rounding the corner of a derelict temple. He stuck to the narrow paths, where the earth was less likely to give way.

A whole one hundred sovereigns. With that kind of money, he could finally move out of the Ashen District.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, Kyro knew deep down that wasn’t the path he wanted to take. For one thing, he wasn’t exactly eager to lay his fate in the hands of an organization not exactly known for its sympathy toward common folk.

The Sorcerers Bureau was the most powerful organization on the continent—maybe the entire planet. Some saw them as the good guys, and maybe a lot of them were. But Kyro had learned not to take things at face value. Especially when his freedom was at stake.

Maybe if I knew more about what’s happening to me, I could make a smarter decision.

But he didn’t. So, for now, that option was off the table.

Speaking of options, I should veer off the main road soon, Kyro thought, approaching a wide, open square. Its centerpiece was a charred fountain, long since dried up.

He’d never had trouble here before, but lingering in open areas was never a good idea. “Better safe than sorry.”

Carefully skirting the old square, he passed the rusted remains of a carriage, its wheels frozen mid-turn as if it had tried to outrun the destruction but failed.

Further along, a dead tree clung to the wreckage of a collapsed house, its gnarled branches twisted in the rubble.

The bleak sights were everywhere, but Kyro barely batted an eye. He admitted, the first couple of visits had been particularly hard to stomach, but he’d gotten over it.

People were capable of worse. Much worse.

Quickening his steps, Kyro opted for the right tunnel of a two-way passage. His eyes quickly adjusted to the encroaching darkness.

At least I always have something to look forward to when I come here...

“Hello, Cyril,” Kyro greeted the bleached skeleton of a long-forgotten sorcerer, propped up against the tunnel wall, a rusted sword still clutched in his bony fingers.

Cyril was the one relic the city hadn’t bothered to destroy or loot for their museums and galleries. Kyro used to think it was an oversight, but when he once tried to move the bones for a proper burial, he found Cyril was practically immovable. Indestructible, even.

The city hadn’t forgotten him—they just couldn’t dismantle him in a way that was worth the effort. So they left him to rot in peace.

Autonomy even in death. What a cold bastard, Kyro had thought when he first found him two years ago.

Since then, fair to say, he had grown fond of the old skeleton.

“Fancy seeing you here, old chap. Still waiting on that promotion, I see,” Kyro said with a grin. He tried to come up with a new joke every time he passed by. Today’s was one of his better ones.

As usual, Cyril didn’t respond, his hollow eye sockets staring blankly ahead.

Kyro smiled. Of course, he didn’t really believe Cyril was the skeleton’s real name—it just felt right.

Reaching out, Kyro patted Cyril’s skull, as he always did when passing through. But this time, something unexpected happened.

…

[Unknown Signature Detected

Analyzing Signature…

Class: Augmentation Quintessence Identified

Initiate Class Integration Sequence for Class: Augmentation?

YES/NO

Warning: Integration time will vary depending on Target Class, Quintessence, and ESF]

…