When Glen reached his front door, he took a quick sniff to confirm Black Crow had been there.
He pulled the spare key from under a stone, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. The bags were right behind the entrance—looked like Black Crow hadn't gone in, just dropped the stuff and left.
Pretty straightforward… Glen thought, grabbing the bags and heading inside.
He needed a way to preserve the pork he'd gotten that morning. No refrigerators in this world, so he'd go old-school: smoke it.
Apparently, there was freezing magic here—might look into that sometime, so he wouldn't have to stress about food spoilage… Glen's mind wandered as he sorted through the kitchen.
…
Today had been the most despair-filled of her life. Laila couldn't imagine facing life without her mother. Luckily, in the midst of all that horror, a kind stranger had saved the day.
"My child, you must thank that kind gentleman properly. People like him are rare in times like these," her mother, Madame Deli, said gently, patting Laila's hand. "I'm sure you're the kind who repays kindness—I've always known that."
"Okay, Mom. Tomorrow I'll ask around about Bayek Town. If I can, I'll bring some friends along." Laila answered softly.
"Good. Just mind your manners. You don't want your friends doing anything that'd leave a bad impression."
"Don't worry, Mom. They're all very polite."
As she talked with her mother, Laila replayed her impression of Glen in her mind.
He was a slim young man, not much older than her, but there was something different about him—a calm, steady gaze, dressed plainly like her. For some reason, she just couldn't stop thinking about him.
He feels special… but what exactly makes him that way? Just as she drifted off, her mother's next words snapped her back.
"We might need to think about moving again…"
Madame Deli's tired face showed her exhaustion.
"Move again?" Laila couldn't take it. She'd lived here for years, made friends, and knew the neighbors. Moving meant leaving everything familiar behind.
They'd already moved twice before, and each time she'd had to adjust to a new place—unfair for a fifteen-year-old.
"You know your father found us again. Today, he nearly killed me. If the officers on patrol hadn't been nearby, I don't know what would've happened." Deli clutched Laila's hands, eyes full of worry.
"I understand, Mom…" Laila looked at her mother's bruised face and the love in her eyes. Her mom was the one who'd suffered, so her own complaints meant nothing.
…
Glen had gotten home late yesterday and spent time dealing with the kitchen, so he slept in till eleven in the morning.
Rubbing his bleary eyes, he opened the second-floor window and saw the old neighbor walking back from outside town, cradling a Rottweiler puppy.
This old guy really loves dogs! Glen leaned out and called down, "Good neighbor! Where'd you get that pup? Looks great!"
In quiet Bayek, that booming voice startled the old man. He glared toward the sound, saw it was Glen, froze for a second, then gave a grunt and ignored him.
Glen chuckled, went back inside, and started washing up.
Then he remembered something, whistled out the window—and from the distant mist, a massive beast burst forth, arriving in seconds.
The beast squatted below, waiting for orders, eyes glowing with focused attention.
"Go watch the woods outside town. If a girl comes, protect her from the shadows," Glen called down.
The beast straightened up like it was saluting—if it could talk, it would've barked, "Yes, sir!" Then it shot out of town like the wind.
Today, Glen planned to remodel parts of the house, especially the fireplace. It was sealed shut, useless for smoking meat, so he'd have to modify it.
He'd just started smashing a section of the brick fireplace when his sharp ears caught odd sounds from underneath.
He put down the hammer and tapped the floor lightly.
Thump… thump…
After testing, he pinpointed the source of the noise. Subtle, but real.
There's a hollow space below? Glen's eyebrows rose. The previous owner had never mentioned a basement.
Curiosity lit him up. He searched the house for a way down—didn't want to wreck his floor unless he had to.
Sure enough, behind a large cabinet in the storage room, he found a trapdoor, wrapped in rusty chains. Clearly, someone really didn't want others going down there.
To Glen, the chains were nothing—he used a little werewolf strength to snap them and lift the door.
A wooden staircase led down into darkness.
A musty, rotten smell wafted up. Glen wrinkled his nose but didn't hesitate.
He grabbed an oil lantern from the house, lit it, and quietly went down the stairs.
When his foot hit solid ground, the lantern light revealed the scene: countless rats squeaking and darting into the shadows, then a few decrepit bookshelves, their books gnawed to tatters.
On a rotting wooden round table sat random junk—glass bottles smashed on the floor, and liquids leaked out.
Glen stepped carefully through the basement, clicking his tongue in amazement. Never would've guessed there was something like this under his home.
He plucked a book that was still mostly intact, opened it, and squinted.
"Hall Maggen… second substitute… seal mark…" Glen struggled through a passage, then shut it with a Chinese mutter, "Ugh! What garbage! Can't make heads or tails of it!"
He put the book back, pawed through the table clutter—just drafts, containers, nothing noteworthy—and kept exploring.
The basement wasn't large, so he finished quickly.
Disappointment struck—almost nothing of value here.
But he had spotted another door, and pinned his hopes on what lay beyond.
Hopefully there's something good in there… Glen took a deep breath in front of the door.
It was made of dark brown wood, carved with ancient patterns, and covered in runes along the frame.
Above it sat a clock-face-like device, but with only one pointer and five zones marked in strange writing. Right now, the pointer rested on the top zone.
He turned the knob. With a click, the door creaked open.
Unnoticed by Glen, the runic symbol under the pointer lit up faintly the moment the door opened.