A warning signal blared in my mind, as if a siren were sounding off, demanding that I immediately transition into my projection form. However, I shrugged off this instinctive urge, calmly finishing my tea, careful not to give away that I had noticed the Knights.

As far as I was aware, a raig in the physical world couldn't be distinguished from an ordinary person, not even by their aura. Our power, unlike that of sensums or shapeshifters, isn't innate to us. It's granted by the Break, and its presence doesn't alter our aura. Therefore, until I step into the world of shadows, to an external observer, I'm merely an ordinary individual.

This was probably a simple coincidence. Two local Knights had chosen to stop by at this cafe - what could be so strange about that? However, two details made me uncomfortable. First, raigs are typically lone wolves. Organizations like the BKDW or Masks are exceptions, but here they were, a pair together. My last encounter with two raigs hadn't ended well. Nevertheless, if these really were two Knights from Troyusse, they might have run into each other so often in the Break that they eventually chose to collaborate. A fine idea, indeed. The second bothersome detail was that one of the "ghosts" had lingered suspiciously long by my table.

Could they have selected this place to halt for a conversation? That's the only explanation I could come up with. Doing my best to maintain a composed exterior, I finished my tea, hardly tasting it, paid my bill, and stepped out onto the street.

I had barely taken ten steps from the cafe when I feigned the nuisance of a pebble in one of my sandals, taking a seat on the first bench I came across. Removing the sandal, I looked around.

Phew.

No one was tailing me.

Just a coincidence, then.

But as my eyes traveled upward, any relief I felt dissipated instantly. A telltale haze fluttered above the lamp post closest to the bench, about five meters off the sidewalk. The second raig was also close by, perched on the sloping roof of the two-story building across the street.

This might be a touch of paranoia on my part, but there was no way this could be mere coincidence! So, the key was to remain calm and not make any hasty moves, but double-check everything.

I slid my sandal back on, rose from the bench, and, without looking back, made my way towards the nearest bus stop. It required an immense effort of will to maintain a casual pace, while resisting the urge to glance over my shoulder.

I caught a break, as a bus on the route I needed pulled up almost immediately. Taking a seat by the window, I assumed the guise of a typical tourist, feigning curiosity and admiration for the cityscape.

In reality, my focus was elsewhere. I was looking for a characteristic distortion in the air, a telltale sign to a raig that there was a foreign projection nearby in the Break.

During the bus ride, I didn't notice anything unusual. That didn't comfort me in the slightest, however. Firstly, with the sweltering heat distorting the air, it would be nearly impossible to make out such a faint anomaly from thirty meters away. Secondly, what was stopping this pair of raigs from exiting the Break and observing me in their physical forms? I didn't even know what they looked like!

Stepping off the bus, I feigned a stumble, this time scanning the area for a young pair. But there was no one fitting that description either. Everyone I saw on the street was at least thirty years old.

Had I imagined everything, my psyche twisting itself into knots? Were there even any raigs in the cafe? Melanie had been right when she advised me to wear a Panama hat: had I suffered sunstroke and begun hallucinating without realizing?

But really, what could I possibly offer to interest the local Knights? I wasn't a public figure, my photo hadn't appeared in any public forums...

I touched my forehead - it was cool. And I didn't believe I had hallucinated. The raigs had indeed been near my table and had certainly followed me out of the cafe.

I was troubled by these unanswered questions. I was clueless, not just about the solution, but about the problem itself. Was it a coincidence or not? And if not, then...

At the mere thought of "if not, then..." my mind refused to go any further.

Realizing that I had been standing still under the blistering sun for over a minute, I moved into the shade of the nearest tree.

The local cemetery closely resembled the military burial grounds in Western Europe. A flat field with meticulously trimmed grass, devoid of any fences or hedges. Everything was regimented: the sandy paths were ruler-straight, and the numerous identical tombstones differed only by the names and dates etched into the stone.

I found this sanitization unsettling, even repellent. Although everything appeared tidy, almost park-like, it felt superficial. Yes, our cemeteries back home were entirely different, not as sunny and polished, but they offered solitude[1]. One could sit by a loved one's grave behind a small fence without attracting unwanted attention. Here, everything was exposed.

I decided to ponder the raig conundrum later. Hopefully, by then my mind would have cleared, and a reasonable solution would present itself. But now, I needed to carry out Melanie's request. Moreover, despite scrutinizing my surroundings, I couldn't spot any traces of projections or suspiciously youthful passersby. Furthermore, there were very few people on this tranquil street and in the cemetery itself. Only three individuals were near the graves - one of them, sporting a characteristic apron and holding a garden rake, appeared to be the caretaker. An elderly couple strolled on the opposite side of the street, and a bored saleswoman wilted in the heat behind a flower stall.

The first thing I did was purchase eight yellow carnations. The flowers were priced a third higher at the cemetery entrance compared to the station square, but I had forgotten to buy them earlier, so I was prepared to pay the difference. Next, I approached the caretaker, exchanging a few words before offering him a hundred francs. The middle-aged man, who had been tending to the cemetery for a long time, declined the money. Honestly, looking at the immaculate condition of the grounds, more akin to a park than a cemetery, I couldn't understand why Melanie insisted on giving extra money each year. But an assignment is an assignment, and I managed to almost forcefully press the hundred francs into the superintendent's hands. Finally, I resorted to the ultimate argument: "My mom said to give you this money, so I'm doing just that!" Only then did he accept it.

After that, relying on Izao's memory, I easily located his grandfather's grave. It was an unassuming tombstone bearing a simple inscription: a first name, a surname, and dates. That was it... Izao's body only remembered these annual visits as a weary routine, the significance of which he couldn't grasp. The boy had never met his grandfather before his passing, and his mother revealed little about her father or the rest of the family. Thus, Izao's indifference towards this family tradition was understandable.

However, I wasn't him, and I held a deep respect for those no longer with us. Additionally, I was aware that death wasn't the end. Consequently, I didn't merely toss flowers onto the grave and fill three glasses under the stone as Izao would have done. Instead, I approached the process with the respect that the departed deserved.

I didn't make any grand speeches, but as I placed the flowers, I mentally thanked the individual who was once Andre Vaillant for having lived. I then removed a bottle of whiskey from my backpack. Filling the first glass to the brim, I poured the drink at the base of the gravestone, whispering, "Rest in peace..." to myself. The second serving followed. As I was pouring the third, I almost shrieked when I spotted a distinctive haze just centimeters from my back, over my right shoulder. I managed to suppress the cry, but my hand trembled, and some of the expensive whiskey spilled.

It was genuinely unexpected!

So, it wasn't a coincidence...

Keep calm!

The crucial thing was to avoid hasty and ill-considered actions. The challenge was that I had no idea what would be considered foolish in this situation, or what the appropriate course of action would be.

With extreme care, I stilled the sudden tremor in my hands, filled the glass, and poured it out. Rising to my feet, I slowly bowed to the grave.

If they had wanted to kill me, they would have done so a long time ago without any trouble. So, I needed to maintain composure and refrain from rushing into the Break to investigate what was happening. Additionally, if the entity standing behind me knew that the raig known as Maestro and the boy in front of him were the same person, they certainly wouldn't have acted so recklessly.

I couldn't comprehend the heightened attention I was receiving, but there was a chance it had nothing to do with my status as a Break Knight. So, for now, I decided to act as though I hadn't noticed anything.

After finishing my bow, I pivoted sharply and stepped directly through the haze. As I suspected, I couldn't sense any abnormality as the shadowy entity passed through me. However, the raig, concealed within the Break, was taken aback, not anticipating such movement and unable to sidestep in time.

Struggling to resist the urge to sprint — which would have been futile as one can't outrun a raig — I counted my steps to calm my nerves and made my way towards the cemetery exit.

So, I was under surveillance, and I needed to discern who was behind it and what they wanted from me.

Think, brain, think. I'll reward you with chocolate later.

I didn't wait for the return bus at the stop, there was plenty of time before my train and the heat and stuffiness no longer seemed as oppressive. The most challenging part was maintaining a casual pace along the city alley, resisting the urge to look over my shoulder every second. Rampant paranoia blared like an insane siren in my mind, heralding the worst possible outcomes of my current predicament. It was exceedingly difficult to think clearly through this cacophony of panic. Nevertheless, I had resolved to stay composed and unhurried, and I stuck to it.

During my fifteen-minute "leisurely walk," I never once looked back, so I was clueless about whether they continued to follow me. My mind was in a whirl, not from the heat, but from the swirling thoughts that were as tempestuous as boiling lava. Regardless of how I approached the situation or from what angle I considered it, I couldn't concoct a plausible, entirely logical explanation for the increased attention from the local Knights. Yes, two theories surfaced, but both were, to put it mildly, a stretch. The first was that one of the local raigs possessed a unique personal ability to identify their own kind. I had no idea if such a capability existed, but it would, at least, explain some things. The second idea was even more outrageous: Melanie knew the raigs and had asked them to keep an eye on me. It was a ridiculous notion, but I couldn't think of anything more convincing.

Passing by a mirrored store window, I paused briefly to inspect my reflection. Was there something amiss with my appearance? Everything seemed fine; even my T-shirt, emblazoned with the image of an attacking robot across the chest, seemed fitting — especially given the fantastic art. I would have been the picture-perfect tourist if I had a camera slung around my neck. So, the idea that I was drawing attention due to my appearance could be safely dismissed.

Could it be true that one of the locals possessed a unique ability? After the enchantment on the glass that allowed visualization of a Knight's passage through it in reality, I was uncertain about what was possible and what wasn't.

The more I mulled over it, the more plausible this theory seemed. It might not have been entirely accurate, but it was less conflicting than all my other hypotheses. And if this was indeed the case, it didn't bode well for me. They had seen my name on the tombstone and overheard my conversation with the cemetery caretaker; it wouldn't be difficult for them to ascertain my real identity.

Hold on! Don't panic! This is just a theory, and there's no certainty to its validity. Perhaps the explanation lay elsewhere, and I was lacking the necessary information to objectively assess the situation. If that was the case, I decided to stick to my initial plan: I would continue to act as if I hadn't noticed anything. Besides, discerning another's projection from reality might not be easy, even if it's nearby — especially if one's mind is elsewhere.

I reached the Troyusse city station at a leisurely pace within half an hour. In an attempt to distract myself, I purchased a notebook and a pen and, while waiting in the lounge, tried to jot down what plot milestones I could remember from the first tetralogy on the world of giant battle mechs. However, thoughts about the raigs kept intruding, making the task difficult and causing the thirty-minute wait for the train to stretch into what felt like an eternity.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

The arrival of the passenger train to the capital brought such relief that I could barely restrain myself from dashing onboard and swiftly finding my seat. I hoped this pair of Knights would lose my trail as soon as I left the city.

That seemed to be the case, because as the train departed, no matter how intently I scrutinized my surroundings, I didn't notice any atmospheric anomalies. Moreover, their time in the Break is limited by the amount of prana the raigs possess — they couldn't tail me indefinitely unless my pursuers exited the Break and kept watch from one of the nearby locations. However, a quick scan of my carriage didn't reveal any young men or women. All the passengers were either significantly older than twenty or, conversely, under twelve.

Fifteen minutes after the train departed Troyusse station, I allowed myself a sigh of relief. Of course, there remained the chance that one of my pursuers was seated in the next carriage, that this incident was far from resolved, and that there might yet be repercussions. But for now, I was alive and well. There had been no confrontations, and it seemed that they had left me be. The only question was, for how long?

Throughout the two-hour journey, I managed to pen only a single paragraph in the notebook. It wasn't a case of faulty memory; rather, my mind was in disarray, rendering my attempt at diversion via note-taking largely unsuccessful.

If I was identified as a raig, all my future plans could be flushed down the drain. Even with my Knight abilities, I wouldn't stand a chance against the system if I were exposed. Youthful bravado might entertain thoughts like, "I can handle this... any problem is surmountable... let them come, I'll show them all...", but it's not as simple anymore. The ancients were right when they said, "With much wisdom comes much sorrow."

Upon arrival at the capital's railway station, I swiftly disembarked and merged with the crowd. Enclosed within this sea of people, I could carefully survey my surroundings without drawing attention. Despite my efforts, I didn't spot any signs of being watched, although it was unclear whether that was a good or bad sign.

I resolved to head straight home. I could have wandered aimlessly, attempting to shake off my trackers, or slipped into the Break in a sparsely populated area to evade possible pursuers... I could have, but if those trailing me weren't complete fools, they would already know where I live, having heard my last name and possibly accessed the burial documents. If that was the case, what was the point of all these evasion attempts?

There was, of course, another option...

To not go home at all...

To leave everything behind...

Enter the Break and vanish, change cities, even countries...

No, that would be too rash. It would be unwise to make such an abrupt decision based solely on speculation. If it came to that, there would always be time.

The journey home felt like I was walking on pins and needles, my mind inundated with heavy, somber thoughts. Upon reaching my apartment and detecting no signs of surveillance in the elevator, I struggled to suppress the urge to become a projection and finally get to the bottom of everything. But I held back, choosing yet again to maintain my original approach.

As I entered the apartment, I kicked off my sandals, hung up my backpack, and surveyed the room. It was as if I had anticipated this when I stashed my motorcycle gear in a dark closet before the trip. I hadn't planned for such a situation, but in retrospect, it seemed I had acted with uncanny foresight.

Just as I was returning the bottle of Glen Grant to the bar, the landline rang.

"Hello?"

"How was the trip?" Melanie's voice sounded unusually anxious.

How, you ask? Terrible! I wanted to shout back, but of course, I responded differently:

"I visited my grandfather's grave, and I didn't forget about the three glasses of whiskey." I couldn't bring myself to say, "everything is fine!" The "Word" protested against this, sending a chill down my hand.

"That's good, son, that you didn't break the family tradition even in my absence..." What was going on with her? Her voice, initially tense like high-voltage wires, now, on the contrary, resounded with palpable relief.

"Mom..." I didn't draw out the word like Izao did in "mamá"; I was more straightforward. "Why did you do this?"

"Son!" Melanie attempted to chide me with her tone.

"Mom... Just tell me, why did you do this?"

Not used to this manner from her son, Melanie seemed taken aback, judging by the intermittent breathing from the receiver.

"I was worried about you."

This was unexpected, both the sentiment and the tone with which she uttered the words. I had thought Melanie didn't consider her son significant, but her voice betrayed genuine concern. Maybe it's true what they say about not appreciating what you have until it's gone. After nearly a month apart from her child, perhaps she had realized that she did love her son.

"Mom... Please, explain."

"I... I'm not sure if you'll understand."

"Mom, try."

"Yesterday, I hadn't even entered my office when the boss met me in the hallway and asked: 'Mela, are there any traditions in your family?'. Of course, I was taken aback, but I acknowledged there was one and added that, unfortunately, the tradition would likely be broken since I hadn't been able to fly to Novilter. To which he replied, 'It would be better if this tradition is not interrupted. Yes... It's better... But I can't let you go, Mela, and that's the truth. But it's better not to break the tradition, yes...' And with that, he moved on."

What?!! But instead of shouting, I simply asked for clarification.

"THAT boss?"

"You heard right, son, that one. As you can imagine, I couldn't ignore his words."

Indeed, when a Maker says something like this — someone who is occasionally capable of foreseeing the future, albeit vaguely and not in detail — ignoring him would be, to put it mildly, short-sighted!

"You're right, mom... Thank you for telling me."

"Are you okay?!"

"I went, came back, and now I'm holding a physics textbook in my hands." I said, picking up the book from the table, skirting around a direct answer.

"Good." Melanie breathed a sigh of relief into the phone. "I'll call more often, is that okay?"

"Of course, Mamá, call anytime!"

"If anything happens, don't hesitate to call me."

"Mamá!" I promptly adopted Izao's favorite intonation in response to her suggestion.

"Au revoir, son."

"Au revoir, Mamá!"

I hung up the phone and finally exhaled. Things never get simpler; you find the answer to one question only to encounter a more challenging one. What had Melanie's boss foreseen that had compelled him to greet her in the morning and warn her about something?

However, these musings quickly receded to the back of my mind as soon as I glanced at the corner of the room. A familiar haze hovered over the guest chair.

What the hell?!

I bit my tongue to suppress a curse that a seventeen-year-old boy would be unlikely to muster due to his lack of life experience. Striving not to focus on the chair, I put back the phone and swiftly retreated to the bathroom.

Turning on the faucet, I cupped my hands, filled them with cold water, and splashed it on my face, repeating the action several times. This chase was not merely the aftermath of a random encounter in a provincial town with local raigs. There was something else at play here, something utterly perplexing.

Had it not been for Melanie's call, after witnessing evidence of an unwelcome projection in my chair, I would have deviated from my initial strategy. I would have dived into the Break, ready to give my pursuer a taste of their own medicine. But the words of Izao's mother radically altered my perspective.

In an attempt to rationalize my prolonged stay in the bathroom, I started brushing my teeth, but was so preoccupied that I forgot to apply toothpaste to the brush.

Melanie's boss is a powerful sensum of high rank. The difference between Feelers and Contemplators is marginal, and Seers distinguish themselves from the first two stages mainly in the level of control over their talents. Makers, however, represent not merely the next stage in the spectrum of abilities, but rather a colossal leap in magnitude. The weakest Maker is far more potent than the strongest Seer, earning them the moniker of local miracle workers.

On my Earth, there were many legends about Seers: Baba Vanga, Edgar Cayce, and even Nostradamus - but these were mostly myths. There was no concrete, irrefutable confirmation of their prophecies that would dispel any doubts about their interpretations. In this world, however, the ability to predict the future based on a Maker's words is a well-established fact.

The question remains: what did Melanie's boss mean when he stressed the importance of observing the family ritual, that is, visiting the grave of Izao's grandfather on this particular day? What did he mean by "better"? Who will it be better for? Perhaps it would be better for the world if I were to be killed? That idea made me break out in a cold sweat. But this advice or wish was specifically voiced to Melanie. The previous assumption is likely incorrect since it seems rather extreme to ask a mother to relay information that would lead to her son's death. Technically, I am still her child, as this body contains her genes, and any grandchildren from me would continue her lineage. Or am I merely trying to comfort myself with such thoughts? Let's discard this option for now - I've already visited Troyusse and conducted the family ritual, which means it's too late to alter anything, if that was the intent.

Let's suppose, however, that there were no hidden implications in the Maker's words and that "it will be better" was directed towards Melanie's family, meaning either for her or me. It doesn't really matter what exactly is supposed to improve. Such specifics aren't essential right now; I just need to grasp the general course of action.

Typically, Makers don't envision scenes or fragments from the future. More often, they blurt out something spontaneously, not comprehending the significance of their utterance, only knowing that it's crucial for the listener. Their predictions can pertain to global events or the most mundane trifles. Alexy Mikhov, a renowned sensum and equally famous internet blogger, recounted such an "everyday" instance on his website. According to him, he had warned his friend against stepping outside early the following day. However, his friend forgot the caution, woke up, and went out to walk the dog. Consequently, a speeding car splashed him head to toe from a puddle - that was the entire aftermath.

More often than not, disregarding such warnings leads to much more disastrous consequences or missed opportunities that are later deeply regretted. Also, even though predictions are a substantiated reality in this world, they are not dispensed left and right. They are relatively infrequent.

Wait... Why did I instantly assume that "it will be better" was a forewarning of something adverse? He didn't say, "it's going to get worse"! What if it pertains to opportunities? If I analyze the phrasing, assuming that Melanie quoted it verbatim, then that seems to be the case!

Over three minutes of teeth brushing was excessive, and I returned to my room, still disregarding the uninvited projection.

If my assumption is correct, the approach I adopted earlier is probably the most suitable. Honestly, it's merely because nothing else sprang to mind. If that's the case, then I'll persist along the same lines and adjust if the situation changes.

I need to engage in something. Otherwise, the sight of a young man sitting on a bed and staring into space, especially having just returned from a lengthy journey, would seem somewhat suspicious.

Switching on the computer and the TV, I started another anime saga and put the kettle on the stove. Damn! It's genuinely irritating when an unknown entity observes you, akin to being in a room filled with hidden cameras. It's uncomfortable, particularly when you don't know what to anticipate from an uninvited guest who has audaciously claimed a seat in your home.

Sipping tea slowly and attempting to immerse myself in the storyline unfolding on the screen, I gradually came to the realization that I wouldn't be able to endure much longer. The relentless scrutiny wasn't just irksome anymore but was truly driving me to the brink of insanity.

[1] TLN: traditionally, each grave, or a set of graves belonging to family members, is enclosed by a symbolic fence. Sometimes, a small table and a couple of benches might be present, but this largely depends on whether it's an urban or rural area due to the higher land prices in cities.