The streets of the Common Realm pressed in from every side — narrow, crooked, alive with the noise of merchants and beggars, guards and adventurers. Dust rose with every step, mixing with the smell of sweat, ale, and iron.
Kairo walked through it like a shadow cutting across the noise, crimson eyes fixed forward. People parted instinctively, though none could explain why — they felt the weight of him, the unseen pressure, as if chains rattled just beyond hearing.
Igron followed close, tall and lean, the Bone Blade on his back drawing more eyes than words. Whispers curled through the streets, suspicious and curious. Adventurers leaned forward from tavern steps, measuring the weapon with greedy stares.
Kairo stopped. His gaze slid toward Igron, unblinking.
"Change."
Igron tilted his head, frowning. "Change… into what?"
"Your form," Kairo said, his tone cold and final. "The blade, your height, your scars. You stand out. We need silence. Not attention."
For a moment, Igron looked like he would argue. His mouth opened — then shut again, his jaw tightening. He gave a slow exhale. "So be it."
He raised his hand, palm pressed lightly against his chest. The air shimmered around him, faint and fluid, like ripples over hot stone. His frame bent inward, tall but less severe, his scars softening into faint shadows, his clothes shifting into plain, worn travel garb. The Bone Blade dissolved in a thin pulse of light, gone as though it had never been.
When the shimmer faded, a weary wanderer stood in his place. Still lean, still tall, but unremarkable — the kind of man the streets forgot.
Kairo studied him, his crimson eyes unflinching. "Explain."
Igron flexed his hand, testing the shape, his voice quiet. "The Bone remembers. Every creature I've devoured, every life I've taken — its marrow keeps the echo. I can mold myself through that memory, wear their weight like a mask. The weapon, the scars, the form… all of it folds into the Bone until I call it back."
Kairo's gaze lingered on him, unreadable. "And the blade?"
"It never leaves," Igron said simply. His tone darkened. "It sleeps inside me. Waiting."
Kairo turned away, stepping forward into the crowd once more. "Good. Keep it hidden. Until I decide otherwise."
The Common Realm moved around them, unaware that two survivors of Hell had already begun walking its streets — one wearing a mask of bone, the other cloaked in unseen chains.