After leaving Wayla trembling, Ethan continued toward his destination. He had already gathered his things—he just wanted to see the only person who had ever truly helped him with whatever he could.
Fortunately, he found Pit at home, tending to his tools. As always, Pit paid little attention to the village's chaos. He spent his days hunting in the morning, returning by afternoon, and relaxing in his home.
"You're still here, kid?" Pit asked, not looking up.
Ethan gave him a small, rare smile. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Pit chuckled. "Every time there's a commotion, you try to run. Did you finally give up?"
Ethan shook his head. "Never have, never will. Actually, you could say I succeeded."
Pit eyed the tattered cloth sack Ethan carried. "Is that why you're lugging around that ragged thing? Not much good for a real journey."
Ethan couldn't argue—Pit was right. That sack wouldn't last long.
Without a word, Pit rummaged through his belongings and handed Ethan an old but sturdy leather backpack. "Take this. It'll hold up better. But if you get caught, don't mention my name. I don't need the trouble."
"Thank you," Ethan said, gripping the bag with both hands. "Don't worry. This time, I won't be caught. I'm not going alone—I've been recruited by an organization. They call themselves the Black Scimitar."
Pit frowned. "Are you sure about that, kid? Joining an organization like that means a life of danger and conflict. You may never know peace again."
Ethan shrugged. "It's not like I'm having a peaceful life here. Getting out of here is what matters most right now. And they're the ones who can help me do that."
Pit nodded and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "If you're sure, I won't stop you kid."
Ethan slung the backpack over his shoulder, then paused at the door. "By the way… my name's Ethan. Remember it."
As he walked away, he heard Pit's laughter echo behind him—fading as he ran toward the rendezvous point where Jenkins said they'd depart.
When Ethan arrived, the group was finishing final preparations. Without hesitation, he approached Jenkins, who was barking orders to his crew.
"Ah, you're back," Jenkins said with a grin. "Didn't take you long—and that's a nice-looking backpack."
Ethan nodded. "Just needed to say goodbye. When do we leave?"
Jenkins chuckled. "Getting impatient already, huh? Don't worry—we're out of here in a few minutes."
Fifteen minutes later, they were ready to move. Carriages Ethan hadn't seen before—likely brought while he was with Pit. He climbed into one with Jenkins and two other men. One was bald with a thick beard. The other looked young not much older than Ethan, most likely a teenager.
The carriage was a simple, uncovered transport wagon. Ethan watched the scenery blur by, wind brushing his face, heart pounding filled with hope for the first time in years.
After a while, Jenkins called his name. Ethan turned to see him gesturing.
"Time for introductions," Jenkins said. "That guy there—" he pointed to the bearded man "—is Olmo. He's the most experienced in our group. He has been in the organization before I was even born and used to outrank me, actually, but after the government destroyed his core, he stepped down."
Seeing Ethan's confusion, Jenkins added, "Oh right. You probably don't know what a core is. It's what lets aura users do the crazy stuff you hear about."
He turned to the younger man. "This scrawny dude is Piter. He is the most recent addition to the group. He joined the organization when he was your age."
Piter gave a small nod, but said nothing.
Jenkins tone shifted to something more serious. "Listen up. This is the golden rule in the Black Scimitar: don't be a hero. Do what you're told. Nothing more, nothing less. Got it?"
Ethan nodded, committing the words to memory. If he was going to be part of this, he needed to understand the rules.
"So here's the plan. We'll reach Hull Town by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. We'll have to camp overnight. Once we arrive, Olmo and Piter will take you to the training site."
He leaned in slightly. "You'll be taught a lot—how to fight, read, navigate, and eventually specialize in something you're good at."
Jenkins glanced at the others. "Our organization, Black Scimitar, is one of the four big ones that run the underworld on this continent. You'll learn about the others during training."
His voice darkened. "For people like us—no titles, no wealth—joining an organization is the only way to climb the ladder, legal or not."
Olmo suddenly chimed in, his gravelly voice and thick and unfamiliar accent sounded weird. "Da. Before… kids with ambition could train on their own, to maybe be lucky and join an academy, become aura or mana users. But now?" He spat on the carriage. "This king—crazy bastard. Soon as he took the throne, he said only nobles could use aura or mana. Just like that. Then the purges began. No trial. No mercy. If a commoner had power? Dead."
He paused, exhaling slowly. "Some, they give up cores willingly—no fight, just fear. Others, they fight back like cornered wolves. And some… some run north, try to disappear.."
Olmo looked at Ethan. "That's part of why you get stuck in that cursed village. Diggen… he was once known aura user, da. Big name, before purge. Had to hide, lay low like hunted animal."
Ethan shrugged. "Anyway if it wasn't Diggen, it would've been someone else."
Jenkins burst into laughter at Ethan's bluntness.
Ethan looked at Jenkins and asked. "If he was that good, then how did he almost get killed by an old man?"
This time, Jenkins responded, with a serious tone. "Old man, huh? You're talking about Adam. Don't let his age fool you. He's a retired assassin. I worked with him back when I was a rookie, I'm pretty sure he didn't remember me—and believe me when I say, he could kill an aura user without even having aura himself."
The journey continued with Jenkins being the only one to speak from time to time. Contrary to Ethan's expectations, the dark-skinned man was surprisingly approachable and easy to talk to. That made Ethan let his guard down—just a little. Not enough to trust him, but enough to listen.
When night fell, the group found a suitable spot to camp. Ethan helped with the simple tasks, like gathering firewood—his years of running odd jobs for merchants proving useful.
When dinner was served, the crew gathered around the fire, sharing jokes and stories. Laughter echoed through the trees, warm and unrestrained. The atmosphere was foreign to Ethan. As a child who grew up in a place where kindness was a liability and silence a survival tactic, he never imagined people could sit together just to laugh.
Staring down at the food in his plate, he muttered under his breath, "I could start living like this."