It was in the morning of the first day in Luen that Sylene got to explore the place. After bidding the mercenary group farewell, curiosity drove him to wander through the city, absorbing everything necessary to perfect his disguise in human territory.
If an ID could be secured, a trip to Regina to visit Michel and the others might be possible. However, age might be an obstacle in joining their group, and without proper identification, leaving the city by train remained impossible.
But still, excitement coursed through every step, a hand absentmindedly rubbing a stomach that seemed far hungrier than usual. Since arriving, the increased appetite had been impossible to ignore. Rather than lingering on the unpleasant memory of rotting ghouls or the unwanted encounter with a pervert, he preferred to let his thoughts drift toward the enticing meals waiting to be discovered.
The intoxicating aroma of freshly baked bread and roasted meat dictated the path forward. Years spent consuming nutrient solutions had forged his obsession with real food.
Efficiency, cost-effectiveness, and convenience defined those bland rations, but nothing compared to the richness of genuine flavors. Roasted meat and fried delicacies had quickly become his favorites. The lingering taste of sizzling oil and succulent juices replayed vividly in the mind. Only now did the realization hit—that hunger had never truly been understood before.
Another scent drifted through the air, halting him mid-step. A sweetness laced with something almost hypnotic. The quiet corner ahead housed a charming, vividly decorated shop.
"Wow, so pretty." He murmured silently, face almost pressed into the glass, his eyes glued into Every inch was a display of carefully arranged chocolates, lollipops, and candy canes, a riot of colors painting the exterior.
A large sign, glowing cheerfully in neon, read "Candy Shop."
Yet something was a bit off. The street lay eerily silent, the shop deserted, not a single customer in sight. Even the counter stood empty, the shopkeeper absent. Drawn by curiosity, footsteps carried him to the entrance. The bell above the door jingled softly as the creaking, chipped wood swung open.
Scents of bourbon, apples, and various fruits flooded the senses, thick and overpowering. Beneath the inviting aroma lurked something else. Something too familiar.
A scent that clawed at buried memories. Pain. An experiment gone wrong. That similar addicting trace that once dulled suffering, lifting consciousness into an airy, weightless haze.
But why here? Why in a place meant for children? It is too odd...
A sound shattered the moment—footsteps, but not from the backroom. They echoed from beneath, five feet underground, bouncing against the walls of what had to be a larger hidden space. Every muscle tensed, instinct urging caution.
"We've put the right dose. Tomorrow, make sure to—"
The voice cut off as the back door swung open. A neatly dressed man emerged, brown vest pressed to perfection, every movement composed and deliberate. Human. Fingers grazed a small device attached to his wrist, voice carrying a lazy indifference.
"I—"
Dark eyes lifted, finally noticing the unexpected visitor standing in the center of the store. A smile formed, casual yet deliberate, the latest terminal wrist device slipping out of sight as if it had never been there.
"What a rare coincidence. Welcome, guest. What are you looking for?" The approach was slow, calculated. The addictive scent, that hauntingly familiar trace, clung faintly to the air around him.
"Sorry, young one, we have a no-cloaks policy here."
An immediate sense of unease settled in. Removing the cloak meant vulnerability, yet refusing would only draw suspicion.
"Apologies, I was lost and ended up here." Fingers hesitantly pushed the hood back. A brief moment of silence followed before the man's smile widened.
"Don't worry, boy! Be careful on the way. We sell all kinds of candy—I'll give you one on the house!"
Without hesitation, a piece of candy was plucked from his pocket and handed over with practiced enthusiasm. The dedication was almost impressive, a shopkeeper eagerly promoting his goods despite the store's eerie emptiness.
The effort poured into decorating such a vibrant space only emphasized the struggle of keeping a business afloat. Accepting the candy with a polite nod, Sylene muttered a quiet "thank you" before slipping it into a pocket.
Stepping outside, a final glance backward revealed the man already turned away, fingers moving rapidly across the terminal device strapped to his wrist, urgency clear in every tap. The bell's soft chime lingered in the stillness as the door closed behind him. Cold air wrapped around the quiet, deserted street, a deceptive peace settling over its silence.
The shop itself was well maintained, not the kind teetering on bankruptcy despite its lonely location. And that man—he seemed well-off enough to own one of those terminal devices, the kind sold at sky-high prices. Back in the underground lab, all the scientists wore them, speaking of them often, just as they did automobiles—topics that slipped into their conversations alongside experiment data.
Lifting a hand to pull his hood back up, Sylene froze.
Above, a small, rotting window creaked open, pushed with painstaking caution, as if the one behind it feared being seen.
Gaze locked onto the second-floor opening, breath stilled. Every instinct screamed at him to move. But he couldn't.
He had seen beautiful people all his life—after all, he was raised in that lab. The scientists always looked pristine, as if imperfections had no place in that underground chamber.
Even the criminals they kept there bore striking features, as though beauty itself was a prerequisite for existence in that cold, sterile world. Yet, none compared to his sister and... cough, Sir Draven.
But this person—a...man?—stood on equal footing with them.
The young man was gazing straight up at the sky, emerald green eyes glistening under the morning sun, as if it had been a long time since he last saw daylight. Melancholy lingered in his sly gaze, a quiet sorrow woven with an unexpected gentleness. Large white ears twitched atop his head, fur so soft-looking that Sylene had the sudden urge to reach out and touch them. The stranger remained still in the window's frame, unaware of being watched—until their eyes met.
Sylene had forgotten to pull up his hood. The young man's eyes widened, shock flashing across his face, swiftly followed by panic. A low, urgent voice broke the stillness. "You shouldn't be here! Run—"
A sharp whine of pain cut through the air as a burly man grabbed the hybrid's hair and yanked him away from the window.
"This disobedient thing was being naughty again. How the hell did he open the window?!" A loud slap echoed, followed by another pained whimper. A woman's voice snapped in reprimand, sharp as a whip. "I told you, don't hit his face! Tomorrow, he will—"
The rest was muffled, swallowed by the window's insulation. No sound could escape.
Fingers curled into fists, nails pressing hard into his palm. Something inside Sylene twisted, an urge to rip through space itself and tear down whatever walls stood between him and that trapped hybrid.
But he was a stranger here, a fugitive in hiding. Stirring trouble now was not an option.
Once he secured his ID, he would move from this city. He wanted to board the train to Regina, just to visit the mercenary group. Yet the memory of that anguished whimper clung to him. That hybrid had risked himself just to warn him.
Sylene glanced back at the candy shop. The elegant man was gone.
Suspicion gnawed at him. Leaving without removing his hood had been less suspicious than stepping foot inside that place. It was his mistake.
The sweet scent still lingered as he turned on his heel. The candy from before sat in his pocket, untouched. He tossed it to the ground, grinding it underfoot near the shop's entrance before walking away.
He couldn't save anyone right now. His own situation was too precarious. No ID meant no protection. If he got caught, there would be no records, no proof of identity—just another nameless hybrid swept away.
He was confident in escaping, but not in avoiding unwanted attention. Rosencraft would find him in an instant if that happened.
Frustration simmered in his chest, carrying him through the restless hours until morning arrived.