Where did it all begin?
I don't know...
I don't even know why I remembered it now.
Out of everything... after all these years... why this memory?
Maybe it's because of London. Or maybe because I'm close to my savior...
But what if all of it is true...? No... forget it.
It feels like I remember something. A street... rain. No... maybe the sky was clear. The sound of a carriage... or maybe it's all just in my head!?
I was running toward our house at the highest point of the village.
I had finally received my very first wage.
With that money, I could buy medicine for my father.
At last, we'd be able to talk and play together again.
Everything would go back to the way it used to be.
I finally reached our house... but was this really our home!? Why was there blood everywhere? Why was our door broken?
I was afraid to go inside.
I shouted:
"Mom!? Mom!? Sister!? Dad!?"
But no one answered.
Was this some kind of joke?
I slowly stepped forward, gripping the coins from my wages tightly in my hand. Maybe a thief had broken into our house.
I pushed the door open with my other hand...
"Mom!? Dad... Sis...ter!?"
Why were their bodies covered in blood? Why was one of my father's arms lying beside the doorway? Why weren't they talking to me? Why were they so quiet!?
I took another trembling step forward.
But the moment a smell reached my nose, my legs gave out beneath me.
What is that smell!? Why is it so strong... and so awful? My mother, my father, even my sister... they all smell nice, so what is this smell!?
I was here until noon... so what happened here all of a sudden!? What happened to my family?
"They're dead!!!"
Everything shattered with the sound of a single footstep.
The cloaked man slowly opened his eyes and raised his head.
His tattered brown cloak swayed gently.
Using one hand to support himself, he brought one leg forward, Then collapsed.
Dust engulfed the area.
With a single swing of his scythe, the cloud split in half before rapidly dispersing.
The man wearing a hat embroidered with a red crescent moon placed a hand over his chest and gave a slight bow.
"May I... have the honor of learning the name of my esteemed opponent?"
The cloaked man casually spun both of his scythes in his hands before replying:
"Certainly... I am The Wanderer."
The man beneath the red crescent moon smiled faintly.
"You may call me... Mr. Hargrave... Mr. Wanderer."
The Wanderer lowered his head slightly.
He lowered one of his scythes and slid his left foot a little farther back.
The sound of rapid footsteps echoed.
An instant later, he appeared directly in front of Mr. Hargrave.
Both of his scythes slashed toward Hargrave's jaw.
But the instant the blades reached him, Hargrave's entire body dissolved into smoke.
The smoke first spread across the ground before drifting behind The Wanderer.
It slowly gathered together once more.
Mr. Hargrave stepped out of the smoke with a smile.
"Fast... incredibly fast!!"
Without even turning around, The Wanderer calmly lowered his scythes.
Hargrave continued:
"You know... I'm not exactly skilled in close combat!!"
The Wanderer slowly twirled his scythes in his hands.
His eyes narrowed as he glanced at Hargrave from the corner of his eye.
Hargrave smiled.
He removed his hat and threw it toward the wall.
"My power... is Nightmare!!"
The Wanderer took a single step backward.
He was already behind Hargrave.
For the briefest moment, Hargrave's eyes widened in surprise.
Then his body dissolved into smoke once again.
This time, he reappeared several meters away, standing directly in front of The Wanderer.
Yet in the very next instant,
The Wanderer was already there.
His scythe once again swept toward Hargrave's jaw.
Hargrave became smoke for the third time and appeared behind The Wanderer.
Then The Wanderer said:
"Could you... stay still like proper prey?"
Hargrave reached behind his head and scratched it.
"I don't suppose... you'd want this fight to end so quickly, would you?"
The Wanderer slowly turned toward him.
Then, with a swift motion, he hurled one of his scythes.
Hargrave leaned his shoulder back.
The scythe slammed into the wall.
But in that same instant,
The Wanderer was already behind him.
The remaining scythe swung toward Hargrave's head.
The sharp clang of metal echoed through the air.
A gentle breeze swept across the battlefield, clearing away the lingering dust.
A dagger.
A scythe.
Only inches away from a throat.
Mr. Hargrave had caught the scythe with his dagger.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
He planted one foot against the wall.
The Wanderer watched him silently.
The pressure of the scythe against the dagger continued to increase.
Then, all at once, Hargrave bent low, pushed himself off the wall, and threw himself back toward the center of the courtyard.
The Wanderer simply spun his scythe once before walking toward the other one embedded in the wall.
He pulled it free without a word.
Mr. Hargrave raised his dagger slightly.
He ran the fingers of his free hand across its blade before saying:
"It's true... I'm weak in close combat, but..."
His smile widened.
"I'm no amateur!!"
He lowered the dagger and slid one foot backward.
The Wanderer slowly spun both scythes in his hands as he began walking toward Hargrave.
A faint crimson glow flickered within Hargrave's eyes.
The Wanderer's legs were severed.
He dropped to one knee, staring at them with widened eyes.
They were perfectly intact.
Then his head was cut off.
He hurriedly grabbed his neck.
It was still there.
He slowly raised his head and looked toward Hargrave.
Hargrave's smile only grew sharper.
"I told you... my power... is Nightmare!!"
The Wanderer let out a deep breath.
He tightened his grip on both scythes and rose to his feet.
"So... you showed me mercy?"
Hargrave shrugged, idly twirling the dagger in his hand.
"Maybe. What happens next... will decide the answer."
The Wanderer began spinning both scythes.
Slowly, He brought them closer together.
The sound of steel striking steel echoed throughout the Tower of London.
Hargrave simply watched.
He blinked once.
The Wanderer was gone.
A single footstep.
Another clash of metal.
Hargrave gripped the dagger tightly, yet the force behind the scythe kept driving it back.
Then, from the opposite side,
The second scythe swept toward his neck.
Hargrave lowered both his dagger and his head before dashing toward the center of the courtyard.
The blades of the two scythes collided.
Slowly, both weapons lowered.
The Wanderer quietly raised his head.
Their eyes met.
The Wanderer took one slow step forward.
Then he burst into a sprint.
Hargrave adjusted his grip on the dagger.
Once again, The Wanderer's head was severed.
His balance collapsed beneath him.
He fell to the ground and rolled rapidly toward Hargrave.
Suddenly, Hargrave drove his dagger downward.
But no one was there.
A hand shot out from behind him, seized the back of his neck, and slammed him into the ground.
Dust erupted into the air.
Then, as though sliced apart, it split down the middle and scattered away.
The Wanderer calmly stepped forward.
Mr. Hargrave slowly rose to his feet, covering his nose with one hand.
The Wanderer continued walking toward him.
"One technique... won't work twice."
Hargrave wiped away the blood trickling from his nose.
He spun the dagger in his hand and smiled.
"Yeah... you're right."
The Wanderer came to a stop.
He lowered his head slightly.
Only dust remained between them.
Hargrave suddenly sprinted straight toward where The Wanderer stood.
A spray of dirt burst upward toward Hargrave's face.
Once again, a scythe swept toward him.
Then, It stopped.
The dust cleared.
Hargrave.
The Wanderer.
Standing face to face.
One of the scythes slipped from The Wanderer's hand.
His gaze slowly dropped.
Drops of blood fell onto the ground.
He reached toward the wound.
The dagger slid free.
The Wanderer collapsed onto the ground.
His head trembled as he forced himself to look up.
This time, He had lost.
Hargrave drove a heavy kick into The Wanderer's wounded side.
After several violent impacts against the ground, dust rose into the air.
The Wanderer's eyes slowly closed.
The sound of rain.
The chill of autumn.
He slowly opened his eyes.
Another memory.
The cold woke me.
Just like always... it was raining.
I needed to find shelter.
...How do I even know that? Shelter? Shelter from what!?
People walked past me without a second glance.
Could they even see me?
Probably not.
I slowly climbed to my feet from where I had been sleeping and walked toward the entrance of the alley.
Maybe I could hide beneath the awnings of the nearby shops until the rain stopped.
Step by step, I drew closer to the alley's entrance.
The closer I got, the louder everything became.
Footsteps.
Conversations.
People eating.
Arguments.
I was about to step out of the alley when I accidentally bumped into a fat man and fell to the ground.
The moment I tried to lift my head, two massive hands grabbed my collar and hauled me into the air.
"Watch where you're going, you little mutt!!"
A nobleman.
Just like every other noble... he looked down on everyone else.
He kept shaking me.
I was sure he was saying something.
I just didn't know why I couldn't hear a single word.
Then, all at once, The shaking stopped.
Confused, I muttered beneath my breath:
"Since when do nobles give up so easily?"
I slowly opened my eyes.
A dignified man stood before me.
He was holding an umbrella
And sharing it with me.
I was about to say something.
But he spoke first.
"Are you alright, kid? What are you doing here? Where's your family?"
I clenched my fists and lowered my head.
Couldn't he tell I was just a homeless kid!?
Wasn't it obvious from my torn clothes!?
Or was he like everyone else...
Trying to find out, just so he could laugh at me?
As those thoughts filled my mind, I suddenly felt a small pouch being placed on my leg.
The soft clinking of coins echoed from inside.
I slowly raised my head.
Now I could see his face more clearly.
A warm smile.
Brown hair that shimmered beneath the lights spilling from the nearby shops.
Eyes hidden beneath the shadow of his umbrella.
Tears slowly welled up in my eyes.
Before I knew it, I was crying.
I don't know what happened... or how.
But when I came back to my senses, I realized I had told that man everything.
The pouch of coins he had given me was still in my hand.
He had given me his umbrella as well and was speaking with several people beside his carriage.
Suddenly, he turned toward me, walked over, then knelt beside me.
"My child... what's your name?"
I looked at him with tear-filled eyes and answered.
"My... my name is Roan."
The man gently took my hand in his warm grasp and asked,
"And... your family name?"
I simply shook my head.
I expected him to become irritated.
Instead, he gently patted my hair.
Aaron leaned closer and quietly said,
"Try to become the last survivor of your family... not someone who was only half alive after their family died... and then died as well."
His words were strange.
Or maybe I was simply too young to understand them.
He stroked my hair once more before standing and walking back toward his carriage.
I wrapped my arms around my knees, ready to cry again.
But for some reason, I suddenly ran after him and grabbed the sleeve of his coat.
The two men accompanying him immediately pointed their weapons at me.
Yet he remained just as kind.
He slowly turned around and looked at me.
"What is it, child?"
At first, I lowered my head.
Then I looked up and met his eyes.
"Could you... tell me your name, kind sir?"
His gentle smile grew a little wider.
He turned to face me completely and knelt once again.
I stared at him as he replied,
"You can call me... Henry."
I quickly shook my head.
"N... No... I... I want to avenge my family. My mother always told me killing people is a sin, so... so..."
His warm hand rested upon my shoulder.
"And then?"
I clenched my fists.
The umbrella and the pouch of coins slipped from my hands.
"When I've taken my revenge... I want to find you... so that... you can punish me!!!"
He stared at me for a long moment.
Then he laughed softly.
He stood and turned his back toward me.
I thought he wasn't going to say anything.
But just before climbing completely into his carriage, he looked back and said,
"Once you've taken your revenge... search for a man named Henry Montagu... I'm sure you'll find me."
Then he stepped inside.
The carriage began to move.
I remained where I stood, staring at the spot where he had been only moments ago.
"The lord of this city... is... so kind..."
Hargrave's footsteps grew heavier.
He was getting closer,
and closer.
The Wanderer's trembling eyelids slowly opened.
Suddenly, the footsteps stopped.
The sound of a dagger scraping against stone echoed through the Tower of London.
The Wanderer was still lying on the ground.
The scraping ceased.
Only a single footstep remained.
The dagger descended toward The Wanderer's head.
Hargrave's smile returned.
The blade struck, the ground.
The sound of cloth fluttering echoed through the Tower of London.
Hargrave let out a slow breath.
"I expected you to be finished by now."
The scythes were slowly lifted.
The clash of metal returned.
A deep smile spread across The Wanderer's face as he whispered,
"My savior..."
Hargrave dragged the dagger across the wall once more and said,
"What happened? Developed a taste for peace? Aren't you going to do anything?"
The Wanderer's smile slowly widened.
"Family... poverty... a murderer... blood... and a savior... do you know what those words mean?"
Hargrave fell silent for a moment before replying,
"Did you hit your head somewhere? Was my last blow a little too hard?"
The Wanderer cut the strap holding his tattered cloth cloak together with one of his scythes.
The wind carried the cloak high into the sky.
He slowly turned toward Hargrave and said,
"Let me show you... the answer to a murder mystery."
He bent low at the waist.
Both arms moved behind him.
One foot forward.
One foot back.
Hargrave raised his dagger before his face.
The dagger,
shattered.
Hargrave crashed down onto both knees.
The sound of something slicing through the wind reached his ears.
This time, there was no escape.
No dagger.
No smoke to become.
The scythe closed in on his neck.
He shut his eyes.
Everything went black.
But then, the sharp clash of metal rang out.
Hargrave slowly opened his eyes.
His head was still attached.
The edge of the scythe hovered only inches away.
A metallic plate, resembling a playing card, had intercepted the strike.
The Wanderer turned around.
There was nothing behind him.
Slowly, he raised his gaze.
A man stood above.
He wore the black military tunic of the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police.
Delicate golden epaulettes rested upon his shoulders, their neatly trimmed fringes hanging elegantly.
A black military cap with a polished visor shadowed his face.
He stood atop two silver cards while several more revolved around him.
The Wanderer grabbed Hargrave by the hair and hurled him toward the newcomer.
The floating cards rushed forward, catching Hargrave and shielding his back.
The man slowly removed his cap, fanned himself with it, and remarked,
"It's really hot today... wouldn't you agree, scythe-wielder?"
The Wanderer drove one of his scythes into the ground.
He raised his head.
"Call me... Wanderer."
The man smiled before placing the cap back on his head.
"Very well... then you may call me Aurelian. Though I'd prefer Commissioner."
The Wanderer let his second scythe fall beside the first.
"An unarmed fight?"
Aurelian calmly removed his cap again and placed it atop one of the floating cards.
The cards descended toward his feet.
Like stairs, they carried him down one step at a time.
Once he reached the ground, he asked,
"Were you the one responsible for the explosion in the sky?"
The Wanderer closed his eyes.
A faint smile crossed his face.
"They only gave me a single card... and told me to throw it into the sky at a specific time... Mr. Policeman."
Aurelian looked at Hargrave's badly wounded body.
Then back at The Wanderer.
"Then I'll be arresting you as an accomplice to the others behind this attack."
The Wanderer opened his eyes.
"I'd rather die..."
Then he quietly whispered,
"My savior... I couldn't keep my promise... forgive me."
Aurelian stared at him for a moment.
He placed his left hand behind his back.
With his right, he tossed his revolver onto the ground.
Then he slowly clenched that hand into a fist.
The Wanderer stepped forward.
Both men smiled.
They took a step toward one another.
Then suddenly,
something massive slammed into the wall of the Tower of London.
Both of them stopped and looked toward the impact.
Two glowing yellow eyes slowly emerged.
Dust swirled around a giant Automaton.
Then a familiar voice echoed through the air.
"Looks like... I made it just in time."
The Automaton swept the dust aside.
Victor stood upon its back, revolver already in hand.
Aurelian laughed before saying,
"So you're supporting me from up there..."
Victor flicked open the revolver's cylinder with his finger, glanced at the remaining rounds, and replied,
"Only five bullets..."
Aurelian glanced at The Wanderer, who was still waiting.
Then he looked back at Victor.
"That's enough."
Aurelian charged toward The Wanderer.
The Wanderer lowered his head with a smile, then took a single step forward.
Two hands,
against two hands,
and one weapon.
───────────────────────────
Meanwhile, Westminster.
A man stood before Westminster Abbey.
A familiar smile rested upon his face.
Long blond hair.
Familiar eyes.
He stood alone across the street from the Abbey.
There was no carriage.
Not even another person nearby.
Not a single Night Keeper.
Only him.
Only the Abbey.