Jun was immersed in the narrow, cramped washroom, where thick, humid steam hung in the air. Given the Bander family's modest means, the room offered no luxury—just a simple, aged wooden tub.
The walls were lined with dark, stained timber planks, and besides a rust-tinged metal towel rack tucked away in a corner, there was no other adornment.
The washroom's only source of light was the faint, dim glow of Mistveil's murky daytime sun, struggling to penetrate a small window covered with smoky-grey glass. The poor illumination cast only dull shadows through the vapour. The air carried a faint blend of soot and tar, and the dull brown bar of soap Jun was using was scentless, offering only a harsh, abrasive feel.
He leaned back against the tub's wooden wall and closed his eyes, letting the heat soothe his tired muscles. In his mind, the events of the past few weeks began to flicker and coalesce.
Suddenly, his thoughts snapped back to the words Bander had spoken the night before.
"There's a group of people called the 'Scouters' in this part of Mistveil. They pass through every three months or so, scouting the surrounding terrain. They aren't police who hunt criminals, but they say some of them possess Supernatural Powers... and some folks whisper that people with such strange abilities are terrifying and dangerous..."
Jun's hands clenched against the rim of the tub. The warmth of the water no longer registered.
'Supernatural Powers...'
His heart began to pound, less with fear and more with a ferocious burst of excitement. He was an accidental guest in this world. He desperately needed a thread, a source of power, anything that could lead him back to his Original World.
"These Scouters..."
Jun abruptly stood in the warm water, and the steam swirled away from his body. As his thoughts fixated on the Scouters, he glanced absently at the small mirror in the corner of the room.
He wiped the condensation from the glass with his palm. The moment his reflection appeared—
"What— What the hell is that!"
His voice echoed with raw panic off the wooden walls of the small space.
Jun pressed closer to the mirror. His eyes... they were glowing with a deep, frigid violet light, like cold flames. A demonic luminescence surrounded his dark pupils, silent and intense.
"Impossible! This is completely impossible!"
He thrust his fingers towards his eyes, checking them rapidly. They felt normal. There was no pain.
His heart hammered against his ribcage as if trying to tear free. He blinked rapidly, repeatedly. The chilling violet glow did not fade.
"Oh, My God! What kind of power is this!?"
He pulled away from the mirror and turned his back to it. Immediately, the violet light in his eyes flickered out, returning to their natural, mundane brown-grey hue.
The intense glow was gone. Jun sank down onto a rust-flecked wooden bench next to the tub, his legs splayed out. His breathing was ragged.
He took a deep, shaky breath and smoothed his damp hair back with trembling fingers.
A wave of cold sweat washed over him. He stared intently at his own body.
"A rumour? Just a rumour, huh!" he scoffed, the word tasting like ash in his mouth.
"I'm part of the rumour Mr. Bander heard! I am one of those people!" Jun theorized to himself, the shocking realization settling deep into his bones.
A strange mix of satisfaction and terror swelled in his chest.
He was no longer just a mere human being. He was a dangerous power user.
A new objective solidified in his mind. He had to understand this power. Control it. Exploit it. He felt, with grim certainty, that this very power, this creeping Madness, might be the only clue to his return.
"The Scouters... if they truly have power users among them..."
Jun's eyes shone. This time, not from fear, but from burning purpose. "I have to find them."
"To find out how I got this power, how I can return to my Original World... The Scouters hold everything I need to know!"
A cold, resolute smile formed on his face. It was the smile of someone who wouldn't be a hero, but a Villain who would do anything to ensure his own survival.
Jun emerged from the washroom, clad in his dull brown trousers and long-sleeved white shirt. Water droplets from his damp hair trailed onto his collar. In the kitchen, Bander was stoking the coals in the stove, stirring a pot of cheap coffee or strong tea.
Jun sat down, his eyes piercing as he looked at Bander.
"Mr. Bander," Jun began, his voice more steady and firm than before. "I need more information about the 'Scouters' you mentioned last night. I need to find them."
Bander paused, the stirring spoon hovering over the pot. The face of the fifty-something-year-old father was etched with deep lines of worry.
"Scouters? Why? You're an outsider. Messing with them is never a good thing, Jun. They're like thepolice, but much more secretive.
Jun met Bander's gaze with unwavering intensity.
"I have my own reasons, Mr. Bander."
"If power users truly exist, I believe they might be able to help me with the things I've encountered recently, Mr. Bander... Please... tell me."
Bander sighed and handed Jun a crude earthenware mug.
"Alright. The Scouters are secretive, but they do have a kind of unofficial base."
Jun: "Where? Which part of Mistveil?"
Bander: "The Old Clock Tower area on the eastern edge of the city. Their informants tend to gather in those old buildings nearby. But be careful, Jun. You'll see things there that are far from pleasant."
Jun: "Their organization name? Are they powerful?''
Bander: "Nobody knows the exact name. Some call them the 'Watchers'. Powerful? Not really... they're just people operating outside the light of the government."
"Seeing a young man like you seeking danger reminds me of my son," Bander murmured quietly.
Jun: "Then... Mr. Bander... what about your son?"
Bander: "He left for the Nadian Empire over a year ago." Bander swallowed, as if tasting pain.
"My boy went to the Empire for hard labour just to help his family survive. They say Nadian is magnificent... but not everyone who goes there returns alive."
Bander's words—"Empire," "Nadian," "Danger"—pierced Jun's ears. For Jun, Bander's son was simply a potential key to the Empire, which might hold the information he needed to return home.
Jun: "Is the Nadian Empire the most powerful one in this world?"
Bander: "Yes. They say it's the brightest, the most innocent place. But there are other Empires too... Cities shrouded in darkness... It's best you don't know, Jun."
Jun sipped the liquid in his mug slowly. His eyes reflected a fierce determination to delve into not only the Scouters but also the Nadian Empire and the other dark cities Bander spoke of.
The tale of Bander's son leaving for the Nadian Empire and the mention of other Empires fueled Jun's longing for a greater destination.
'Nadian Empire...' Jun set the damp mug down and stood up.
"Thank you, Mr. Bander. The information you gave me is vital."
"Where are you going, Jun?" Bander asked anxiously.
Jun had made a final, stubborn decision. His path was broader than the dark streets of Mistveil. The way back to his Original World lay only among the great Empires, the power users, and the secret organizations.
'The Nadian Empire is where I have to go... I must first find a path to the Empire!'
Jun stood in the small, dim room, checking his meagre supplies. His attire was simple, designed for fading into the shadows of Mistveil. Over his long-sleeved white shirt, he pulled on a dark-brown, knee-length greatcoat. The heavy garment, with its Gothic-style raised collar, offered essential protection against the town's pervasive damp and chill.
His tools were basic: a small, worn knife tucked into his waistband, a map of the district made from rough paper (stolen from a tavern), and the small coin purse Bander had insisted on lending him.
Inside the purse were three heavy Iron Marks_ coins made from a steel alloy and stamped on one side with the seal of The Grand Sunderheim Empire (an eagle or a sword).
The Grand Sunderheim Empire was an ancient, authoritarian Empire that rose rapidly in military might and magical power after the great Cataclysm. It issued the Iron Mark primarily for economic control.
His focus was not on the coin, however, but on the objective. The Scouters. The Empire. The way home.
He glanced toward the Bander Walcroft family's living area. Bander was likely still in the kitchen, worried.
'Sorry, Mr. Bander. What they know is essential for my survival.'
Silently, Jun slipped out of the house and onto the wet, cobblestone street.
The path to Mistveils eastern edge was a descent into the towns forgotten history. Busy roads gave way to narrow, winding alleys where the perpetual fog never seemed to lift. The air grew heavier, thick with the smell of decay and stagnation.
As Jun pressed on, the streets became eerily quiet.
The few people he encountered were haggard figures in slightly tattered robes. They studiously avoided his gaze, moving cautiously.
Finally, the silhouette of the Old Clock Tower rose above the rooftops_ a black, crumbling sentinel. Its clock face was shattered, the hands frozen at a permanent, ominous time.
The area surrounding the tower was a graveyard of forgotten commerce. Abandoned workshops and warehouses with shattered windows lined the street. Profound, unnatural silence reigned.
Jun stopped, his eyes surveying the deserted area. Bander had said their informants were in those old buildings nearby. But how to find a secret base among a dozen derelict structures?
He knew simple methods wouldn't work. If the Scouters truly dealt with the Supernatural, they wouldn't hide behind a simple lock.
'They search for the abnormal. To find them, I must create the abnormal.'
Jun's mind, operated on logic. He needed a unique signal, something that would only attract the attention of the 'Watchers.'
He took a slow, deep breath, focusing on the pervasive silence, a silence that meant vigilance and observation.
His gaze fixed on the large, darkened warehouse directly across from the clock tower. He could sense it_ not with his physical eyes, but with the chilling sensory awareness that came with his terrifying new power.
He knew what he had to do. It was dangerous, perhaps insane, but necessary.
Jun deliberately placed his foot on a pile of broken, wet slate on the street. With a sudden, quick kick, he sent the slate skittering across the cobblestones, shattering the silence with a sharp, unnatural clatter.
Then, he did what his dark instinct demanded.
He opened his eyes, letting the deep, cold violet light pulse and seep out. He stood absolutely still, a silent, living lure. He wasn't relying on sound; he was relying on fear. He gathered his entire consciousness, probing for any flicker of negative emotion or the chilling signature of someone watching.
A moment passed. Two moments.
Then, from one of the darkened windows of the warehouse, he felt it: a slight, almost imperceptible tremor of suspicion and low-level fear, followed by intense alarm.
Got you. Jun's lips curved into a cold, calculating smile. He immediately snapped his eyes shut, extinguishing the violet light, and then reopened them to their normal hue. The Scouters had noticed him. Now, he just had to wait for them to make their move.
Before the echo of the shattering slate could fully dissipate, the heavy, iron-reinforced door of the warehouse across the street creaked open.
Two figures emerged, clad in dark, heavy leather duster coats and wide-brimmed hats that obscured their faces. They looked like hunters ready to face a great beast.
One held a gas-powered lantern, casting a dim, flickering yellow light. The other carried a heavy, bolt-action rifle.
Their attention was locked on Jun. They were cautious, methodical, and clearly dangerous.
''You there! Stop right where you are!'' the figure with the lantern called out, their voice muffled.
Jun stood his ground, letting the heavy silence return. The adrenaline surged, not from fear, but from the realization that the game had officially begun.
Jun began to speak, lifting his head slightly above his Gothic collar.
Jun: ''Are you the Scouters? Or do you call yourselves the Watchers...''
His sentence was cut short. The hand of the rifleman, whose gaze had been fixed on Jun's now-normal eyes, twitched. In his mind, he had seen the brief, purple flare under the lamplight, a signature of danger. Their experience dictated that a normal human would not possess such eyes in the darkness.
The rifleman reacted without hesitation.
Fire!
The thunderous report ripped apart the silent old city. A heavy slug from the rifle tore through the air, aimed straight at Jun's chest.
Jun's violet eyes flashed with an urgent, primal reflex. His body instantly reacted with the new power's momentum. He spun sharply to the left, and the bullet missed his right arm by mere millimeters, striking the wall behind him with a fierce CRACK!
The wood splintered violently.
Jun was momentarily stunned by his own speed; in his perception, the bullet seemed to move in slow motion.
Before his shock could fully subside, the rifleman moved with an unnatural, blinding swiftness. He appeared instantly behind Jun's back, slamming the rifle barrel against Jun's temple and cocking the bolt.
Just as the Scouter was about to fire.
Scouter (Lantern): Stop! Issac!
The Scouter with the lantern yelled. Jun, realizing the rifle was pressed against his skull, raised both hands into the air.
This was intentional. It was a clear, unambiguous signal to the two Scouters that he was not hostile.
The Lantern Scouter noticed Jun's lack of malice, recognizing that his body language only showed defense. This prompted his shout.
Scouter (Lantern): ''I said stop! He emits no hostile energy! He is only defending!''
The rifleman, Issac, hesitated, the muzzle of his rifle slightly lowering from Jun's chest to the ground.
Scouter (Lantern): ''Who are you, boy? What was that with your eyes just now? Are you an Aethernal?''
His voice was a mix of caution, authority, and intense curiosity. He scrutinized Jun with a searching stare.
Scouter (Lantern): ''What do you want? Tell us immediately! Otherwise, we will decide to apprehend you right here!''
Jun kept his right hand raised but used his fingers to scratch the back of his head, letting out a slow, deliberate grin_ the smirk of an idiot, a fool who held a deadly secret.