“It’s the Greenies,” Cogwyn said. “One carriage. Five escorts. Can’t see the crest on the door, but I bet the little girl lord is inside.”

“Why are the Vassenets here?” Trance stood on his seat to see above the cages. “How did they get past the Princeps’ soldiers at the gates?”

“How should I know? Didn’t you say that the business of the lords is theirs?” Cogwyn winked at Finlay as if to share a joke.

“And we keep it that way,” Beor somberly said.

Beor directed the groffs to the right. He made chirping sounds to calm the pair of six-footed muscular beasts as they sidled among the pressed masses. As Cogwyn predicted, people had to climb on top of each other to make space. Some even got on their wagon. Cogwyn made sure the cover of the melloswine cage stayed on.

The banners of the Vassenets came closer, the soldiers holding them sitting proudly on Vestin avian-steeds bred from terror birds to be used in wars. All five guards were in full plate armor of exquisite make, each fitted to their size, laces of glittering green worked into geometric patterns on the black interlocking steel. Lavish ceremonial wear. Higher Linked Wardens rarely wore armor because it was restrictive. It wasn’t only wealth the Vassenets displayed with their armor. Dampening plates across their chests inscribed with Lha’at anti-scrying runes meant these soldiers were Soulheart Wardens who didn’t want others to sense how many Links they had.

A subtle showing of power. A warning, some might also consider.

The carriage they guarded took up almost half of the wide road circling the town square. Feldeer antlers covered in gold leaves jutted from the carriage’s corners with lanterns dangling from them. The windows had their curtains drawn, concealing the passengers.

Why are the Vassenets here? Finlay repeated Trance’s question in his mind.

What originally happened on this day? Finlay was locked up in the constable’s office, so he didn’t know much. People there must’ve talked about the drama outside but Angloise was meaningless to him back then; their words didn’t stick to his memory. The constable left his office for a few hours, Finlay recalled, probably to deal with any trouble there was.

This wasn’t the road to the lord’s mansion if the Vassenets wanted to reclaim that. It didn’t look like they fought their way through the gates either. Their intention was probably something peaceful.

“Green horns are Vassenets,” Cogwyn explained to Finlay. “Rightfully, their family should rule over Worwick. But there’s a problem. You see, the previous lord who passed away last year had a boatload of debt to another lord, the patriarch of the Wyrenths. All these fancy buildings aren’t keeping themselves beautiful without money and he—oho, one of them is coming this way.”

A Vassenet soldier stopped next to their wagon and glanced at the cages.

Cogwyn elbowed Finlay and whispered, “Short for a lord’s personal guard, don’t you think?”

Finlay shushed Cogwyn though he agreed with his remark. The other guards around the carriage were giants in comparison, rivaling Beor’s stature. It wasn’t the only odd thing about the short soldier. His armored frame was very slight, petite almost. And the way he carried himself while riding the avian-steed was eerily… delicate. Elegant? Finlay couldn’t find an appropriate word to describe his mannerisms.

“Should I try to sell him the terror bird?” Cogwyn wondered.

The short guard turned to Cogwyn and raised his visor.

Her visor? The upper half of the guard’s face had feminine features. That explained her build.

“Greetings, erm, good sir.” Cogwyn alighted the wagon and placed a closed fist on his heart. “Are you perhaps interested in this terror bird? Behold this fine specimen! No damage at all, as you can see for yourself.”

Ignoring Cogwyn, the guard turned to Finlay. Did his hairstyle, unlike any worn by men of Ilaya, catch her attention? Maybe she noticed he was naked under the cloak and wondered why?

Her green eyes examined Finlay’s face with a severe regard that rang familiar. Their eyes met.

Finlay froze.

Jade…?

“Fancy yourself a bullzard to go with the terror bird, noble Vassenet warrior?” Cogwyn loudly asked. “We’ll give you a good discount if you buy both.”

“Cogwyn, shut up,” Trance hissed through a gap between the people that clambered on the wagon’s front.

“What’s the problem? If we sell them now, we won’t need to line up at the—there goes my customer.” Cogwyn waved at the guard rejoining the horned carriage. “Sir, don’t leave! I have… and not listening to me.” Cogwyn grinned at Finlay. “You have to thank for distracting him… or her? I kept saying ‘sir’ to not risk a mistake. I’m not crazy to think that soldier is a woman, am I?”

“You and me both,” Finlay slowly said. “Low chance we’re both crazy.”

“All the more reason not to stare. She would’ve taken offense. That’s why I pestered her with the terror bird so she’d leave; I have that effect on women.”

“Who was that?”

“Curious, eh? If I have to guess, maybe Lady Elowen. She’s the only female Warden of the Vassenets that I know of. Others have left for the elemental sects, I’ve heard.”

“Lady Elowen?” Finlay stared at her steel-covered back. Jade could be a mere alias she gave to him.

Jade didn’t give a family name or hometown when she introduced herself. Perhaps she came from Worwick all along. If she went around this town wearing a helmet, Finlay wouldn’t have seen her face before. Add that the Vassenet lord barely showed up during the festival; her guards were likewise scarce.

“You have to be careful around here, my not-noble-but-maybe friend,” Cogwyn said. “This is very far from Elmbow, you understand?”

“Thanks for the save,” Finlay absentmindedly replied as he searched his memories for more clues.

All he recalled were her green eyes and famished face. But the guard revealed only her eyes. Green too, yes. Then again, many women had green eyes even if it wasn’t a common color. Finlay’s only proof that she was Jade was the way she looked at him. Not much of a proof. Absolute nonsense, really. Between him and Cogwyn, maybe he was the crazy one.

Finlay sighed. “She’s not Jade…”

“What did you say?” Cogwyn followed Finlay’s gaze. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with our mysterious lady soldier? Those emerald irises—she’s from a Vassenet branch family. If you’re a noble, you can try your luck.”

“I wasn’t—”

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“But there’s a slight obstacle, my friend. Slightly big… Big? Huge, huge obstacle! That lady is a Soulheart Warden. Three Links is my very educated guess. Means you’re out of luck. Not even Beor can help you there.”

“I wasn’t thinking about something like that,” Finlay said. “It’s the politics of Worwick that interests me.”

“If you say so.” Cogwyn shrugged. “That lady soldier is pretty interesting too.”

Finlay awkwardly laughed as he feigned embarrassment. Difficult to come off as sheepish when there was turmoil inside him.

The Vassenet Warden wasn’t Jade.

He wanted her to be. But she wasn’t.

There was a simple explanation for what he saw—a hallucination driven by guilt.

He was granted a second life. There were many mistakes he wanted to change. Among them was abandoning Jade. He wanted to make it up to her.

Abandon. He did do that, didn’t he?

Even if he gave her food, he knew she wouldn’t last long. Deep inside, he knew. No hiding behind rationalizations. He could’ve helped her. Helped them. The not-strong-enough-to-save-everyone thinking was a load of groff crap. In that situation, he was strong enough. He proved it to himself by taking care of the children after Jade died, bringing them to lands untainted by the Spore.

He wouldn’t know if he was strong enough if he didn’t try. If he wasn’t, he could only hope his best accomplished… something. From that day onward, with the scars made by the ferrorsu as a reminder, Finlay fought with his all. It couldn’t bring back Jade, of course. In this timeline, he wanted to meet her to make things right…

… even if his wrong never happened. So why did he want to meet her?

“Are you okay there?” Cogwyn patted Finlay’s shoulder, his forehead creased in concern. “Don’t be disheartened. Look, everyone’s moving again. The marketplace isn’t too far from here. If we got some nice clothes on you, who knows, maybe that lady will glance your way a second time?”

As their wagon moved away from the town square, a dome peeped over the rows of houses northward, reflecting sunlight on them. Going around one more block, the marketplace greeted them in all its architectural glory. Ivory columns held up a massive glass dome topped with a golden spire. Extending like the sun’s rays from the central structure were five arms housing dozens of vendor stalls.

The overly-extravagant public market was constructed by the father of the current Vassenet lord.

Well, not actually him. He probably had never held a chisel in his life. Neither had Finlay, to be fair. This was the last vanity project of the previous lord. The Speckle mines of Worwick shut down two decades prior. He was sitting on a dwindling pile of coins and spent the last of them.

Then he took his life.

According to Cogwyn, the previous lord passed away last year. Not true. It was two years before that. Everything was swept under the rug, then the rug was set on fire, its ashes thrown into a bin, and the bin buried underground. The Vassenets tried hard to delay announcing the death as long as they could so the heir could become older. Master Isidore told Finlay all about this. Such a gossip, that guy.

Finlay never knew the name of the previous Vassenet lord or that of his daughter. Someone might’ve told him before but he couldn’t recall. Lots of things he couldn’t remember about his past life.

It made him apprehensive. What if there was an event he should change but he’d recall it too late? What if some important memories completely escaped him? Or what if his recollections were faulty and he’d make the situation worse?

Too many what-ifs again. He’d go mad if he didn’t stop the spiral of worry.

There was a movie Finlay watched one summer at his uncle’s house that stuck with him. It was about a guy who could see snippets of the future. At first, the power turned out great. The guy won big in the stock market. He bought nice cars, mansions, anything he could dream of. But his fun was cut short by an accident his prescience didn’t catch. From the moment he woke up on a hospital bed, he refused to move without a vision of the future telling him it’d be fine. He wouldn’t eat for fear he’d choke. Wouldn’t even go to the bathroom because he might slip. Went mad, basically.

Teenage Finlay thought the movie was ridiculous. No way he’d end up like that if he had future sight. Dumb that the main character just forgot how to live a normal life and became a captive of the future.

Wasn’t that what was happening to him now? The beginnings of it, at least. Although he couldn’t see the future, he had lived it. The possibility of making the wrong move was very real in this timeline. Too bad he didn’t have eidetic memory, but what could he do?

Finlay slapped himself. Just continue forward.

Cogwyn gave him a puzzled stare. “What’s the problem?”

“No-nothing.”

“Ah, I think I got it—this place doesn’t look like the usual market you’d find in towns. Doesn’t that make this a unique sight? There’s also the beast auction. Most towns don’t have one, especially for a place this far from the capital.”

“A lot lined up today.” Beor gestured at the cages containing creatures caught in the forests of Worwick.

“No terror bird or melloswine,” said Trance. “Three bullzards. With ours, that makes four.”

“Ours is the biggest. The others can all go home to their mothers.” That was Cogwyn, of course.

“We’ll command a good price on the terror bird and melloswine,” Beor said. “The gods support our pockets.”

A groggy jarlion snarled at them through enchanted bars. It shook its deep orange mane as it struggled to stand on all fours. Finlay used to wonder how jarlions could hunt in a mostly green forest when its color sorely stood out. Reaching four Links, he practiced transforming into simple beasts, including a maeroswine. It turned out that maeroswines, like the dogs of earth, couldn’t see red. Red was darkish grey, orange was smudgy green, blue was still blue. The same was probably true with other animals the jarlions preyed on.

A worker at the auction house rushed to the jarlion’s cage. With a scoop tied to a long stick, he poured something into the cage’s water trough. The jarlion sniffed the water, attracted by its scent, and drank it. The jarlion was back to sleep a few seconds later.

I used to be this guy, Finlay thought with a smile. Actually, he’d replace this very guy after escaping the church.

“There’s your smile back,” Cogwyn said with a clap. “Told you this is an interesting place.”

“It sure is.” Finlay didn’t last long working at the auction house; he transferred to the town square construction site. But he learned plenty about the flora and fauna of Ilaya while he was here. Not a glamorous job whatsoever. Way more difficult compared to taking care of the chickens at his grandfather’s farm. Just give the chickens shredded reject vegetables. Here, he was lucky if he was assigned to herbivores.

A few cages from the jarlion was a granmarg, a four-armed beast that looked like a cross between a gorilla and a boulder. Judging by its craggy armor absent any greenery, it was a juvenile. Adults granmargs would sit still for weeks until moss grew on them.

Finlay didn’t know why they did that. For camouflage? Too cool themselves? He’d experiment transforming into a granmarg someday to find out.

“Who’s the idiot who brought this youngling granmarg?” Cogwyn scoffed. “This big guy needs at least two years to fully develop his Soulheart. All those expenses are going to chip the bids.”

“If they released it, others would catch it,” Trance said. “That’s likely their line of thought.”

Beor parked the wagon near the center of the market—the auction would be held at the amphitheater under the dome—and began to unload the cages. With superstrength granted by his Aranbolg Soulheart, Beor lifted each of the caged beasts on his own. Trance made arrangements with the auction master to have their catch appraised.

Cogwyn beckoned at Finlay. “This’ll take time. Let’s address your nakedness so I can get my cloak back.”

Finlay dove into the jumble of stalls wrapped in a cloak and emerged wearing a long-sleeved tunic over a thin shirt, loose pants tied around his waist and knees, and leather shoes with wooden soles. The World Tree seed was in his pocket. He didn’t buy a pouch because he wouldn’t need it.

Having felt the soft fabric of Earth again just a few hours ago, Finlay realized how scratchy the normal clothes of Ilaya were. He just got used to them.

“I reckon these are very different from the clothes you usually wear,” Cogwyn said. “They’re not enough to catch any lady’s attention, but that’s all my spare coin. We’ve got tabs to pay off at the brewer for sleeping potions. We didn’t need those when we just hunted for Soulhearts.”

“How can I repay you?” Finlay asked. “Not now, of course.”

“Just think of this as your cut of the hunt. You did participate in it… in a way.” Cogwyn leaned forward and whispered. “I’m also starting to buy Beor’s luck nonsense…”

“Your cloak—”

Cogwyn made a face. “Uh, it’s yours. I’m planning to buy a new one after we sell the beasts. Take this too, if you’re not squeamish.” He handed Finlay a small circular flask, a third filled with bright red liquid.