The warm steam rising from the tub had finally dissolved the last trace of scent from Hayjin. He dried himself with a coarse linen towel, looking suspiciously at his small hands. They were clean, almost too clean, as if the water had washed away even the last layer of reality from his life in his own world.
He put on a new earth-colored tunic, a thin leather belt, and small reinforced boots that Elara had pulled from an old chest. When he stepped out of the cabin, the sun of Alius was high a sphere of white fire that made the dew on the giant leaves sparkle.
Rhaegalur was waiting for him by the fence.
After two hours of uphill walking, Hayjin's lungs began to burn. Every step was a challenge against gravity and his own frustration. Rhaegalur proceeded at a steady pace almost slow for him, but relentless for a child.
"Breathe with your belly, not your throat," Rhaegalur ordered without turning around.
Hayjin tried to follow the advice, attempting to ignore the pain in his calves.
The path wound like a snake among the silver trees, and the silence of the Exilia forest was broken only by the rhythmic crunch of leather boots on the hard ground. Hayjin moved at a brisk pace, trying to ignore the burning in his muscles, but his mind was racing much faster than his legs.
As he walked, his gaze fell on Rhaegalur ahead of him. The man walked with an irritating phlegm, hands clasped behind his back, as if he were taking a Sunday stroll in a London park and not escorting a fugitive wanted by a millennial cult.
"Rhaegalur," Hayjin began, his voice still marked by breathlessness. "Aren't you afraid? You left Elara alone in the cabin. If the Cult returns... if Cross decides that killing your wife is the best way to smoke me out…"
Rhaegalur didn't stop, nor did he alter the rhythm of his step. "Elara isn't as fragile as you think, just waiting to be trampled, Hayjin. Our home is protected by my dragons; not even Cross would dare attack the house, or manage to scratch it without burning half the forest. And besides…" an enigmatic smile curled his lips, "everything is under control. Never underestimate the patience of one who has lived as a god."
Hayjin clenched his fists. "Lived as a god..." That phrase kept echoing in his head. Who was this man, really? A normal man doesn't incinerate people with a gesture; a normal man doesn't emanate that aura of primordial terror that makes a choice assassin flee without a fight.
"But you… who are you really?" Hayjin finally snapped, stopping in the middle of the path. "Don't tell me you're just a human being. I want the truth. If I have to entrust my life to you, I want to know who holds the reins."
Rhaegalur stopped. He turned slowly, and for an instant, his eyes didn't seem human; his pupils seemed to elongate, becoming vertical golden slits.
"In another era, in a time your mind would struggle to conceive, I was known as the Dragon God," he said in a voice that seemed to come from the depths of the earth. "I was the sovereign of the skies, the one who decided the fate of the winged races. But after centuries of war, betrayal, and blood... I grew tired. I abandoned my throne, my reins, and above all… my pride. I chose to be a nobody. I chose to live as a mortal because I found something worth more than a thousand kingdoms: the love of a woman who sees me for the man I am, not the monster I was."
Hayjin stood there, mouth agape. "A... a God? You're a real God?"
"Yes… but a god who prefers splitting wood and smelling the scent of his wife's bread rather than the taste of victory in battle," Rhaegalur replied, resuming his walk. "But power never completely vanishes; it stays there, like hot ash under the hearth."
Hayjin tried to process the information. He had a God as an adoptive father. The situation was becoming increasingly absurd. "Wait a second… I'm missing something here. If you're so powerful, why does Alius look like hell? Couldn't you use your immense strength to destroy the entire Cult of the Mark? You mentioned threats earlier... is there more besides the Cult?"
"Oh, much more more than you can imagine," Rhaegalur sighed. "Alius still bears the scars of the Thousand-Year War. The Demon King nearly devoured every continent; two of them were completely destroyed and to this day remain completely vanished. It took a desperate alliance of men, elves, dwarves, and even some gods to strike him down for good. We killed him, yes, but his corpse poisoned the earth. Entire kingdoms are still in ruins, and his remaining subjects creatures born of pure hatred still haunt the wild lands, sowing death. Alius is a world in convalescence, Hayjin. And the Cult of the Mark is like an infection taking advantage of the patient's weakness."
Hayjin felt an oppressive weight in his chest. He looked at the beautiful forests and the shifting skies. "Figures… So it's the same crap everywhere. My world, Alius... nothing changes. People dying, eternal wars, the powerful crushing the weak for a shred more power. It's a hostile world, Rhaegalur. Basically, it's just a more colorful, magical version of the sewer I came from."
"Wherever I go, whatever place I'm in, I'll still have to put up with the same shit. Hahaha, what irony."
Rhaegalur stopped again, but this time he looked at him with a strange sweetness.
"You're wrong, boy. Look around you. Yes, there is death, there is pain. But there is also an extreme beauty that shines precisely because it is fragile."
"Beneath every fall, there is a rebirth. Look at the light filtering through those silver leaves... nothing like it exists in your 'gray world.' Alius is a world fighting to stay alive, and it is this struggle that makes it magnificent. Don't let the cynicism of a man from another world blind the eyes of a child who can still marvel at the world."
Hayjin remained silent, struck by the depth of those words. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps he was only looking at Alius through the lens of his trauma.
Finally, they reached the summit of the Weeping Hill. Rhaegalur stopped and gestured toward the horizon.
Hayjin lost his breath. Before him stretched the Kingdom of Opes. It wasn't a sprawling woodland, but a living tapestry of impossible colors. Great plateaus of red rock clashed with forests of trees with silver leaves that reflected light like mirrors. In the distance, the city of Opes could be seen a giant megalopolis extending over a vast area, surrounded by rivers that seemed to flow upward along the hillsides.
"It's... immense," Hayjin whispered, forgetting his anger for a moment.
"That is Opes, the largest kingdom in Exilia," Rhaegalur said, his voice laden with ancient solemnity. "Once it was the garden of the Dragon God; now it is one of the many kingdoms trying to recover after the Great War. It's a kingdom of trade and secrets, the only place where even someone like you can blend into the crowd without trouble... if you don't arouse too much suspicion, of course."
Suddenly, Rhaegalur stretched, making his bones crack. "Well, the philosophy lesson is over. I'm tired of walking and I want a decent beer in Opes."
"And so? We still have to walk for hours!" Hayjin protested.
"No," Rhaegalur said with a mischievous grin. "Get on my back, brat. And hold on tight if you don't want to end up splattered against a tree."
"Wait… what do you mean? What are you planning to do?" a confused Hayjin shot back.
Hayjin didn't have time to ask for explanations before Rhaegalur let out a muffled roar. From his shoulder blades, two immense wings exploded, made of leathery membranes and silver scales that shone like diamonds. He didn't transform completely, but his figure became more imposing, almost mythological.
Hayjin, heart in his throat, leaped onto his back, grabbing the collar of his tunic. Rhaegalur flexed his legs and, with a leap that shook the very foundations of the hill, projected himself into the sky.
"WAAAAAAAH!"
Hayjin's scream was swallowed by the wind. They flew at a mad speed. Below them, Exilia became a blur of colors. Adrenaline exploded in Hayjin's blood: he was terrified, sure, but a part of him the part that had never seen anything taller than the skyscrapers of his world felt pure ecstasy. The wind lashed his face, and for the first time, he felt truly free.
A few minutes later, the white walls and slender towers of Opes appeared on the horizon. Rhaegalur landed with the grace of a predator in a hidden clearing just outside the city gates. The wings vanished in the blink of an eye, hiding back beneath his skin.
Hayjin stepped down to the ground, his legs shaking like jelly. He composed himself, straightening his tunic and looking at Rhaegalur with an expression between indignant and flabbergasted.
"Wait… wait, don't tell me… that you... you could do that from the beginning? Is that true?" he asked, his voice rising an octave.
"Of course I could," Rhaegalur replied, brushing a speck of dust from his shoulder.
"And you made me walk for two hours under the sun?! My feet hurt! You treated me like a mule when we could have been here in three minutes!"
Rhaegalur burst out laughing, a hearty laugh that echoed through the trees. "You needed it to vent your anger, Hayjin. A furious warrior makes mistakes. A tired warrior, however, learns to listen. And besides... admit it, you needed it to stop thinking about your world for a while."
Hayjin clenched his fists in rage, puffing out his cheeks in a childish pout he couldn't control. "I hate you. I hate you deeply."
"Sure, sure. Now move, idiot. Opes is waiting for us, and I promised Elara I wouldn't let you get eaten by a monster in the city before evening."
Laughing to himself, Rhaegalur walked toward the city gates, leaving Hayjin to mutter insults while trying to regain his dignity lost in the wind.
Before they could cross the massive stone arch that marked the official entrance to the gate of Opes, Hayjin stopped abruptly. The wind, still carrying the scent of the clouds and peaks crossed moments before, lashed his face, ruffling his dark hair.
Rhaegalur took a few steps, then, sensing the void behind him, turned. His imposing dragon-man figure, now concealed under common clothes, cast a long shadow that seemed to touch the child's feet.
Hayjin wasn't looking at the city. He was looking at his own hands, then he raised his eyes, meeting the deep golden ones of his savior. There was a new seriousness on his childish face, a solemnity that clashed with his stature, but which belonged entirely to the man he had been in his world.
"Rhaegalur," he said, and his voice had no trace of a tantrum. It was steady, laden with a psychological weight that seemed to make the air between them vibrate. "I want to tell you one thing. One last thing."
The former Dragon God tilted his head slightly, waiting.
"Thank you," Hayjin murmured. The word seemed to cost him an immense effort, as if admitting his vulnerability were a defeat. "Thank you for saving me a few days ago. Thank you for not letting me rot in that cave and for protecting me despite my bad attitude, hahaha. I know you weren't obligated to do it. I know your 'debt' is toward something else, not me, and yet here you are, helping me."
He took a step forward, jaw set.
"But wait… try to [not] misunderstand me. Don't think this thank-you is an act of submission. I still don't trust you. Not entirely. You're a God playing at being a man, a being who hides all his power under a shirt. Who's to say I'm not just a piece on a larger chessboard? Who's to say your 'care' isn't just a way to sharpen a weapon you intend to use?"
Rhaegalur didn't interrupt. His gaze was a surface of still, impenetrable water.
"And there's another thing you need to know," Hayjin continued, and this time his eyes shone with a feverish, almost obsessive light. "Alius is beautiful. Your wings are incredible and Elara's food is the best thing I've ever tasted. But this isn't my place. I don't care how magical this world is or how black mine is. I belong to another world. I belong to a life where I don't have to worry about deities or cults. My goal hasn't changed, and it won't change. I will find a way to go back. I will use this Mark, I will use your teachings, I will use every single scrap of power this world throws at me to reopen that portal. And I'll do it, Rhaegalur. I'll do it… because I have nothing else to cling to except the hope of a more peaceful life."
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the distant noise of the city seemed to die down.
Psychologically, Hayjin was drawing a line in the sand. It was his way of protecting his own sanity: if he accepted Alius as his new home, the Hayjin from the other world would truly die. Thanking Rhaegalur was an act of honesty, but reiterating his desire for escape was an act of survival.
Rhaegalur stood looking at him for a time that seemed infinite. There was no mockery in his face, nor anger. There was only a solemn, almost melancholic calm. He didn't try to convince him otherwise; he didn't laugh at his apparently impossible ambition. He simply observed that child who spoke with the determination of a condemned man, seeing in him not just a guest, but a soul fighting a war against reality itself.
Without a word, Rhaegalur nodded slowly. A single, imperceptible movement of the head that acknowledged Hayjin's challenge. Then he turned and resumed walking toward the gates of Opes, letting the sound of his footsteps be the only answer.
Hayjin stood there for a second longer, his heart pounding against his ribs. He had spoken his truth. He felt naked, exposed, but also incredibly lucid. He adjusted his hood and followed the dragon's shadow, finally entering the beating heart of Opes.
As the silhouettes of Rhaegalur and Hayjin were swallowed by the bustle of Opes, disappearing among the light reflections of the glass towers and the magical steam rising from the city's canals, the silence of the clearing they had just left was broken.
Atop a nearby rise, where the vegetation grew thicker and the shadows of the silver trees seemed like black claws reaching toward the sky, something moved.
It wasn't an animal. It wasn't the wind.
A slender figure, wrapped in a cloak of dark silk that seemed to absorb sunlight instead of reflecting it, emerged slowly from the trunk of an ancient sycamore. The hood was down, revealing a featureless white porcelain mask, except for two thin slits at eye level.
From the mask came a dull, metallic breath.
The figure raised a gloved hand, clutching a small crystal monocle engraved with violet runes. It pointed it toward the gate of Opes, focusing on the back of the child's neck walking beside the giant. For an instant, the crystal lit up with a pulsing light, reacting to the energy signature of the Mark.
"We will see each other very soon, Hayjin… much sooner than you think," whispered a voice that didn't sound human, but rather like the sound of a thousand insects flapping their wings in unison.
A crow with unnaturally large wings perched on the masked figure's shoulder. It had three eyes, and the central one, red as blood, stared at the city gate with an intelligent hunger.
With a rustle of fabric and a black beat of wings, the clearing became empty again. But the air remained heavy, impregnated with an acrid smell of ozone and death.
Unaware of everything, Hayjin was crossing the threshold of what he believed to be his salvation, not knowing that the eye of the Cult had never closed, and that every step of his toward freedom was, in reality, a step deeper into the web they were weaving around him.