The toast had ended with a half-smile on Niko's face, the soft clinking of wooden cups echoing beneath the low ceiling of the small, fire-warmed tavern. Oil lanterns flickered above, casting slow-moving shadows across the walls. A scent of peppered stew and worn cloth hung in the air.
Joran raised two fingers, calling over the waitress.
The waitress returned with soft footsteps, apron slightly smudged from handling dishes. Her cheeks were flushed, either from the warmth or the way her eyes kept returning to Joran's face.
"We'll be heading out," he said casually, reaching into the inner pocket of his coat.
He pulled out a small, coin-shaped object—green, opaque, and smooth like polished stone. It gleamed subtly as he handed it over.
The waitress's eyes lit up. She took it gently, nodding with a pleased smile. "Thank you, Mr. Joran. You're always welcome here."
Joran returned the smile with a slight tip of his chin—familiar, practiced. Not flirty, not indifferent. Niko watched the exchange. There was something oddly soothing about how natural it felt. A normal moment, in a world where nothing felt normal.
The waitress glanced at Niko next, as if only now remembering he was there. Her eyes softened again, and she gave a polite, curious smile. He hesitated, then returned it. She lingered for just a moment.
Niko tilted his head. "You're… really pretty."
Her smile widened slightly, then she looked away quickly.
"Oh-ho," Joran chuckled. "Look at you. Lady-killer now, are we?"
Niko blinked, feeling something stir in his chest that wasn't quite embarrassment—just warmth.
They stood up to leave. As they stepped past the last row of tables, Niko's eyes drifted once again toward the back wall. The half-star symbol stared back at him from that faded poster. The ink beneath it hadn't changed.
DANGER.
He didn't know why it unsettled him so much. The shape was simple. Clean. But something about it—felt unfinished. He turned his head as they stepped out. The city air hit them like a sigh — damp and quiet, laced with the ghost of rain that hadn't fallen. Mist clung to the street corners like it didn't want to leave. Above, the sky was a heavy, a slice of the moon peeked through—barely more than a pale smear behind veils.
Twin moons hovered above — one pale silver, the other burnt orange — casting diluted light between fast-moving clouds. Most of the stars had long disappeared behind the haze.
Not many stars. None, really.
"I say we find a place to rest," Joran said, his tone casual. "The inn by the eastern wall's still standing, last I checked. Decent beds. Rotten coffee."
Niko gave a slow nod. But his mind was elsewhere.
They had talked so much… yet he had learned so little. He still didn't fully understand Essentia, or Nullborns. Even now, Joran hadn't asked him how his Essentia worked. And maybe that was good. Because Niko didn't know how to explain it. Not really. How do you explain something that felt like a dream half-remembered?
His lips moved before he could think too much.
"What's yours?"
Joran blinked, glancing sideways. "My Essentia?"
Niko nodded. "You never told—"
There was a pause. Not long. But heavy.
Then—
A scream.
It cut through the fog like a jagged blade—high and sharp and ragged at the edges. A woman, maybe. No, a child. Something in between. Both of them froze. Joran's head turned sharply east.
"The gates," he muttered. "It came from the gates."
He took a step forward, then stopped. Niko's head whipped to the left. Down the far end of the street, half-shrouded in mist, he saw a shape—a figure. Mr. Ledo. He was standing over something. No—someone. A child.
The old man's posture was stiff, his arm outstretched, pushing the kid away. But it wasn't gentle. The shove was rough. Abrupt. Like trying to swat away a stray dog.
Niko tensed.
Ledo raised his hand again, this time higher. It wasn't going to be a shove. And then—something clicked. His vision twitched. A soft hum inside his skull.
— SOUL'S REFLECTION —
[Instinctual Trigger Met]
Essentia: Mercy in Panic—Activated.
Stability Holding...
His eyes burned red. The world shifted. Colors dulled—then pulsed.
Ledo's figure turned muddy, tinged with dull bronze. Sickly and stiff. His intentions weighed heavy on the air, like rusted chains.
But the child…
The child's shone faintly. Not gold. Not silver. But something warmer—like an ember buried in ash. And he knew. It was a trap. The one who needed saving was the adult.
He lunged forward.
There wasn't time to think—only the pull of instinct. His muscles surged with unfamiliar strength, pushing him faster than he thought his body could move.
He slammed into Mr. Ledo's side, sending the old man staggering backward with a grunt. The child tumbled away, landing in the dirt with a soft gasp.
"W-What the hell, boy?!" Ledo barked.
Niko didn't answer. His chest was heaving. He turned to look at the child again—still breathing. Still alive. His thoughts spun.
Ledo wasn't a good man. That much had been obvious from the start. He only showed kindness when it benefitted him. But even so… he didn't deserve to go out like this. Not devoured by something that wore the face of a child.
Even if he hadn't been kind… He had helped. That was enough—The air shifted again. The fog in front of him rippled, then peeled away like fabric in the wind. A voice echoed softly, almost amused.
"…So you saw through me."
The illusion dropped.
The child's form twisted.
Bones cracked. Limbs elongated. Flesh shimmered, like oil rippling across water. The air turned thick—wet with something unseen.
Now standing before them was a creature.
Niko's eyes flicked to the twisted humanoid shape as it began to shift. The illusion peeled away like mist dissolving in sunlight. Its true form stepped out from the haze: lean, tall—about 5'9—with pale, dead-flesh skin and a single curved horn growing from above its left eyebrow. Long red hair spilled down its back in jagged locks, greasy and wind-matted. Its clothing was stitched from scavenged leather and bones, tight against the body with ceremonial rips. A twisted parody of a uniform. Its grin was wide. Too wide.
Its eyes met Niko's. Not empty. Amused.
Joran's voice was low. "That's no Stray."
Niko turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing.
A Howler.
The term rang out like a bell through his memory, echoing back to the conversation from the restaurant. Joran had mentioned them briefly—tricksters, manipulative, cunning Nullborns with a sense of cruelty that Strays lacked. If the twisted nurse had been a Stray... then this was something entirely different. Its presence alone radiated purpose. Intention.
The Howler stared at Niko like it had known him forever.
"I'll handle this," he said firmly.
Joran looked at him, questioning. "You sure?"
Mr. Ledo scrambled to his feet, still behind Niko. "What?! You expect him to handle that thing? Are you insane?"
Niko turned his head slightly toward Joran, voice calm. "Go check the gate. That's where the scream came from. If something's happening, people might need help."
Joran's gaze didn't leave the Howler, but he nodded once.
Ledo hissed, stepping back. "He's just a kid. You're really leaving me with him?!"
Joran offered no more than a shrug and a calm, almost amused tone. "If he says he can handle it, I trust him."
The Howler's lips curled higher. "Are you sure he can handle me on his own?"
In the distance five Nullborns had emerged. Hunched, twitching things—barely human—crawling with jerky steps and teeth too sharp to be real. Eyes sunken, black, glossy. They saw him. And charged.
This was his chance.
Joran didn't reply. Instead, he took one slow breath, then glanced toward Niko. "You were asking about my Essentia. Well..."
His hand moved, slipping under the hem of his coat.
The moment froze.
Then he dragged the edge of a curved blade across his right forearm—clean, deliberate, from elbow to wrist. The flesh split cleanly, without a drop of blood. As though the skin itself had peeled open to reveal something underneath.
A long, obsidian-black blade extended out of his forearm, sleek and honed like a katana made of living shadow. Its edge shimmered faintly, almost like a mirage. Then, Joran moved. He dashed past the trio.
No, not dashed—slid.
The katana in his arm blurred as he shot across the street in a single, impossible step. Space bent, or perhaps was ignored entirely. The blade carved through the air in a long horizontal arc—and the five Strays that had crawled from the mist were suddenly cut in half.
Joran didn't flinch. He held out his left hand. Then, without hesitation—he sliced off his own fingers.
The digits dropped to the ground—no blood, only a strange shimmer in the air. The fingertips twitched… then levitated.
Before Niko could even gasp, the fingers shifted, metal and bone twisting into five dagger-like shards. They hovered around Joran like obedient hounds.
Then, the blades shot forward.
They ignored distance. They didn't fly—they appeared. A blink—and they were inside the skulls of the Strays. Piercing through flesh and cracking bone, they twisted with impossible speed. Each one dug into the heart next, a brutal crunch following. Then—like sniffing hounds—they slid lower.
Searching.
It was surgical. The blades moved inside the bodies—searching.
Niko's eyes widened.
The Apolus. It was seeking the third organ.
Each blade stabbed deep, twisted slightly—and then the Strays dissolved into black mist, their forms disintegrating completely.
Ledo, frozen, whispered under his breath. "What... the hell is he?"
Joran's face barely shifted. With one movement, he flexed his hand—and the blood that had become blades flew back toward him. They wrapped around his outstretched fingers like living bandages.
Then…
His missing fingers regrew. The flesh reformed without delay, smooth and seamless. As if nothing had ever been lost. Even Niko felt a chill crawl down his spine.
Doesn't that… hurt? he thought. Is cutting them off part of the ability's cost, or just a condition?
Joran turned slightly toward Niko and Ledo. He gave them both a glance.
Ledo stepped back. "Aren't you going to help me? That thing's still here!"
Joran's voice was calm. "You'll be fine. I'm sure Niko can handle it."
With that, he turned and sprinted down the street. Mist trailed his steps. As he ran, he thought back to the table. To the soft-spoken answer Niko had given when asked about his Essentia.
Mercy in Panic.
There's more to it, he thought. A lot more than just a poetic name. A small smile tugged at his lips. Then he was gone. The Howler hadn't moved. Its glowing eyes were fixed on him. And yet, all Niko could think was:
"What a monster."
A part of him wanted to understand that Essentia. Another part feared he never could. The Howler tilted its head.
"So. It's just you and me now."
Niko narrowed his eyes. Red flickered through his vision.
—SOUL'S REFLECTION— Essentia: Mercy in Panic Status: Triggered Soul Strain: 3%
The world took on its sheen.
His eyes glowed faintly. The hue of Mr. Ledo—dim, messy, confused. The Howler? Slick. Red-gold. A signal of deceptive calm masking madness.
Niko's jaw tightened.
He didn't like Ledo. The man was selfish, mean, and short-tempered.But he had helped him. He didn't deserve this kind of death.
CHAPTER END.
Chapter 5 – "Deceive Thus Greed"— Preview —
The Howler smiled, its single horn gleaming in the moonlight."You've got sharp eyes, little human… but will that help you live?"Niko didn't flinch. His voice was low, steady."Maybe not. But I only need to live long enough."Red light flickered in his gaze—Mercy in Panic had already answered.