The town square of Phon was as lively as ever—the cries of merchants hawking their wares, children darting through the crowd, and the air thick with the scent of spices and grilled meats.
But Mortis heard none of it.
His eyes were fixed on one person.
Fern.
She laughed softly as an elderly vendor handed her an extra bunch of carrots. Her smile shone brighter than the afternoon sun. With a polite bow, she turned and began to walk away.
Mortis didn't move—yet his mind was a storm of thoughts.He wanted to approach her, to say something. But then he remembered—she had seen his skull.
"What are you doing?"The voice in his head was soft but clear, like cold smoke slipping into his thoughts."Attachment? Sentiment? These are chains, Mortis."
"I just want to know…" he murmured, "…if she's doing well."
Fern stopped at a herb stall, chatting with the elderly shopkeeper.
Mortis watched from the shadows.
"…A healer?"he wondered.
Suddenly, Fern looked up.
Their eyes met.
Her smile faltered, her expression clouded with confusion—as if trying to recall a fading memory. Mortis quickly turned and melted back into the shadows between the buildings.
She saw me... Does she remember me? No, she fainted before she could see my face… right?
Before he could steady his breath, a soft voice called out from behind him.
"Wait!"
Mortis froze.
Footsteps approached. He turned slowly, the shadows of his cloak veiling his face.
Fern stood there, only a few steps away.
"I'm sorry… but have we met before?"
Silence fell.
He wanted to speak, but the words stuck. What would I even say? That I dragged you from a ghoul cave? That I'm a walking corpse?
At last, he said in a low, rasping voice, "I… don't believe we have."
Fern frowned slightly, as though she didn't quite believe him. But she gave a gentle smile."You just… look like someone I met a long time ago. Someone who saved my life."
Mortis remained silent.
"My name is Fern. I work at the potion shop now. If you're ever hurt or need treatment… you're always welcome."
She extended her hand politely.
He stared at it for a long moment, then reached out—his gloved fingers brushing hers gently.
"…Thank you," he whispered.
Fern smiled again before turning and walking away.
After she was gone, Mortis silently returned to the main road.
Eventually, he arrived at a small inn—an old two-story wooden building near the blacksmiths' quarter. Three gold coins a night. Pricey… but quiet enough to practice magic undisturbed.
Inside, Mortis locked the door, dropped his gear onto the worn table, and sat cross-legged in the center of the room. He closed his eyes and gathered his focus.
A memory surfaced—Sylwen, arms outstretched, dancing like the wind. The way the air rippled with each step… Wind Magic to enhance speed.
"Feel it… remember the sensation,"the voice echoed in his mind."Don't mimic. Interpret it in your own way."
Mortis exhaled slowly, rising to his feet. He lifted his hand, channeling magic from within to his fingertips. A familiar chill tingled through him—a wind, but colder. Not nature's breeze, but his version of Wind Magic: silent, freezing, ghostlike.
A soft violet glow shimmered around him. His body lightened—faster than before. In a blink, he flashed from one end of the room to the door. But—
BOOM!
A burst of force slammed into the wall like an explosion of wind.
A knock soon followed.
Knock knock knock!
Mortis froze, then moved to the door.
A startled young man in a worker's outfit stood there, fist still raised mid-air.
Faint violet light seeped from Mortis's helm, and dark mist like cold fog rolled along the floor.
The man stepped back. "S-Sorry! I just… the noise…"
"I apologize for the noise," Mortis said calmly and shut the door.
He sighed. That was close.
The rest of the night passed quietly. Mortis trained in silence until morning.
Gentle sunlight streamed through the window.
Mortis slung his twin-bladed axe onto his back, secured in a new harness he'd bought yesterday, then headed for the lumberyard.
Today, he'd be joining two other woodcutters on a job in a village called Paek Yai.
A wooden cart waited at the town's northern gate. It looked old but sturdy, pulled by a hulking beast with the body of a buffalo, branching antlers like a deer, and eyes glowing red like molten gems.
A Karnok—the local draft beast of this region.
Axes, saws, and various tools filled the cart bed.
"Yo! You must be the new guy!" A cheerful young man waved from the cart. He was short, round-faced, and tan-skinned. "I'm Peren! And you?"
"…Mortis."
"Cool name! You look like you're ready to chop monsters instead of trees, hah!"
"I'm just… being careful," Mortis replied flatly.
The other companion was a quiet woman with short hair and dark eyes. She nodded politely.
"I'm Na. Let's look out for each other."
Mortis nodded back.
The cart rolled out along the dirt path toward the northern forest.
Peren kept chatting non-stop—asking Mortis's age, his background, why he was taking up woodcutting."Strange name, though. You fight well, don't you? Why take a job like this?"
Mortis was silent for a moment, then answered simply.
"To earn coin… and to practice something."
He responded selectively, dodging some questions, but kept his tone from sounding too cold.
This life was new to him. Having coworkers who didn't carry swords felt… odd.
Not in a bad way—just unfamiliar.The feeling of truly being among people.
By late morning, the skies over Phon remained clear. Crowds bustled through the main roads.
Fern carried an empty basket on her back, heading toward the northern forest to gather herbs for the clinic.
She passed through the north gate out of habit. But as she neared the guard post, her ears caught a conversation between two gatekeepers chatting under a tree's shade.
"I saw him this morning… His armor's not like any knight's I've seen. Black's not unusual, but that black mist—like cold smoke drifting off his body constantly… What kind of magic does that?"
"Yeah, and those glowing purple eyes inside his helmet? Like fire. I got chills when he looked at me."
"Same! I asked for his name—he said 'Mortis'… with this eerie voice that echoed in my head. Definitely not normal."
"And get this—he's staying at that fancy inn in the smithing district. Three gold a night! Last night someone complained about noise during his magic practice—almost called the city watch!"
Fern stopped in her tracks.
Mortis…?
The name the guard uttered felt like it had been shouted directly into her heart.Her eyes widened before she realized it, and her heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst from her chest.
"Impossible..."
She whispered, barely audible — as if she didn't want anyone else to hear it. Or perhaps, she didn't want to believe it herself.
The image of a skull beneath a dark hood, with glowing purple light seeping from its hollow eyes...The deep, low voice that once called her name softly in the ghoul cave...The icy hand that once helped her up from the pile of corpses...
"But he should be...?"
She shook her head slightly, trying to suppress the whirlwind of thoughts racing through her mind.
"It could just be a common name...""A coincidence...""Just a coincidence, that's all..."
But the more she tried to reason with herself, the more she felt something deep within refusing to let her dismiss it.
She stood there, staring out toward the open city gates and the distant forest beyond.Her fingers tightened slightly around the basket handle — confused, startled, and filled with unanswered questions.
"If it really is him… why doesn't he remember me?""That skull beneath the hood… could he be... undead?"
And as she stood lost in those thoughts, another guard's voice rang out.
"Strange, sure — but he didn't seem like some evil type. Just... really strange, that's all.""Yeah, I thought the same. He even pays his room rent on time! Hah!"
Fern pressed her lips together, drew in a deep breath, and slowly stepped through the city gate.But this time, she wasn't heading into the forest just to gather herbs.
She was searching for the truth.