The man instructed him to return in two days to collect his ID, and with that, Sylene and Bryent left. As they walked back to the tavern, Sylene silently memorized every landmark so he can go pick up his ID with ease. When they arrived, the mercenaries were enjoying their food and drink, laughter filling the air.
Bryent turned to him. "Thanks to you, kid, we have spare money for the next city. In a month or two, we'll reach Regina and take some time off. If you're free, you can come visit."
Sylene glanced around, his gaze settling on Michel. The young man caught his eye and gave a small nod, a subtle reminder of the lion keychain he had gifted him.
A faint smile touched Sylene's lips. "If I can, I will. And thank you—for everything. For protecting me until Luen, for the ID…" He hesitated, then added, "For teaching me how to use the VX."
Some of the older mercenaries, who had once raised Michel, looked at Sylene with a certain fondness.
"Well, if you're interested," one of them mused, "You could always join us for some jobs when you're older. Who knows?"
"Stay safe, kid," another said. "Tomorrow, we leave. Be careful."
Sylene nodded, a strange sense of sadness welling in his chest. It had only been a four-day journey, shortened to three, yet the mercenaries had left an impression on him.
This was their way of life—brief encounters, fleeting bonds, and endless farewells.
"You guys be careful too," he murmured. "There are ghouls out there bigger and stronger than the ones in the forest. Stay alive."
With that, they exchanged their goodbyes. Like the wind, they had come and gone, but the memories always remained.
Alone once more, Sylene watched them with quiet longing. The mercenary group wasn't related by blood, yet they banded together like family. A bitter pang of jealousy struck him.
Since childhood, his only family had been his twin, Q96. She had been perfect—the scientists' favorite, their chosen model for the Q98 experiments. In contrast, he had been nothing more than her spare. The only thing he had ever surpassed her in was regeneration.
And yet, she had died.
Her body had been drained, her genetic material extracted for future experiments. For Q98. What remained of her—a hollow, shriveled corpse—was deemed worthless, set to be discarded like trash.
Twins as experiments were a blessing to those twisted-minded vampires. Sylene had stolen her body, determined to bury her somewhere far from the cold, unfeeling hands of the scientists who had ignored him.
The shock still clung to his chest, suffocating him, and tears streamed down his face, blurring his vision. The lifeless weight in his arms—a cold, stiff reminder of what had just happened—it felt too heavy, too unbearable.
His minds wandered to that night, the dim light of the cloudy night barely guided him, and his footing faltered. He tripped, falling hard, but even as his body twisted painfully upon impact, he instinctively protected Q96.
Both arms loosened only when he crashed into a thorny rosebush. The sharp thorns tore into his skin, warm blood mixing with the lingering scent of earth and flowers. But the pain was nothing compared to the raw grief clawing at his chest.
It felt as though all the light in the world had vanished.
His sister—revered by the scientists, the pinnacle of perfection for the Q98 models—was gone.
How could he, the weaker one, still be alive when she had died? She had always been the stronger twin, the one with value. She had been the favorite, the best. And yet, she was the one who perished. It should've been him.
Everything about her was authentic—the wings, the pleasing personality. Even her womb had been original, designed to be perfect, while his was an artificial construct.
"I'm stronger than you. You should follow me." That was what she always said.
When the experiments turned cruel, when the pain became unbearable, she would tell him to shut up. She never treated him particularly well, but she had been the only one to play with his hair, the only one to share food with him. She was his only family.
And in that hellish underground chamber, even an imperfect companionship was better than being alone.
Yet, somehow, he had survived. And in the end, he met Sir Draven.
Sir Draven was different—kind in a way his sister never was. In a way that was foreign to him. It was almost as if the vampire gardener had become a replacement for what Sylene had lost.
The moment he entered the garden, everything changed.
No scientist had ever stepped foot in that place. It was untouched by their cold, calculating hands. It was unlike anything in the vampire castle, as if it belonged to a different world entirely. Yet, Sylene knew it was still within those walls. The air was different, thick with the scent of roses—sweet, nostalgic, almost intoxicating.
Even now, the memory of that scent lingered in his mind. It was the only place where, for the first time, he had felt something close to peace.