Chương 234: Chapter 233 - The Timeless Aureate

Alice hummed quietly within Lucid's mind, something thoughtful in the sound.

'He's not wrong,' she said.

'Economic recovery often depends as much on perception as actual material circumstances. People hoard resources when they fear scarcity, regardless of whether that scarcity is real or imagined. Visible signs of stability encourage spending, which generates further stability.'

'You sound impressed,' Lucid thought back.

'I am cautiously impressed,' Alice admitted.

'Though I remain unconvinced regarding his methods overall. Or should I say 'your methods' since you two have seemed to conspire with each other!' Lucid considered this, looking around the market square. More shops were opening now. The energy in the air felt different from when they'd first arrived here weeks ago, back when the streets had been empty except for cult patrols and frightened civilians too scared to leave their homes.

"Fine," Lucid said finally, addressing Valen directly.

"I'll let the lawsuit thing go."

"How generous," Valen said, his tone carrying obvious sarcasm.

"But you owe me information," Lucid continued.

"About what you are really looking for. Something beyond what you've told everyone else." Valen's expression flickered, just briefly, before settling back into careful neutrality.

"That," he said, "is a conversation for another time. Perhaps when our paths cross again, fogged associate." He turned fully this time, walking toward the edge of the market square where a carriage waited, its driver already adjusting the reins in preparation for departure. Lucid watched him go, the platinum mark still resting in his palm. He turned it over once, studying the metal catching afternoon light.

"He's hiding something," Lucid said quietly, more to himself than to Arthur.

"Most people are," Arthur replied, his tone carrying a weight that suggested personal experience. Lucid glanced at him, considering the comment, considering everything Arthur had revealed about himself over recent weeks.

"Fair point," Lucid conceded. The magistrate approached them then, her expression more relaxed now that Valen had departed.

"Thank you," she said, her voice carrying a note of genuine gratitude as she addressed both of them.

"Whatever your reasons for helping, Port Vexis owes you a debt that cannot be repaid in gold or silver." Fenwick casually walked beside the magistrate, his hands on his hips, his posture carrying a confidence that had been absent just days ago, he looked like a different person, transformed by the crucible of everything that had happened.

"I see you have grown balls," Lucid said, his voice carrying a note of dry amusement. Everyone chuckled, the sound light and unexpected, a release of tension that had been building for so long, Fenwick smiled, a genuine expression that reached his eyes, "Precisely, I may not have been successful in whatever that Domain was, but I am glad I could cross paths with you, Lucid."

Looking at Fenwick, Lucid realized that he was as much a victim in all of this as he was, the thought struck him with unexpected force, and it strangely reminded him of Karmen, the one who had lost a brother, the one who had carried the weight of loss and transformation, and in that moment, he saw the same reflection in Fenwick's eyes.

Lucid normally did not say many encouraging words, he was not built for them, they felt clumsy on his tongue, but something in the moment compelled him to speak, "He would have been proud, your brother, he would have been proud of who you have become." Fenwick nodded, a quiet acknowledgment passing between them, no words needed, just understanding.

Suddenly, small copies of the magistrate materialized around them, running and climbing over Lucid, their tiny hands placing an ice crown on his head, they were small copies of Celeste, the same ones he had seen in the pillars inside the Domain once, small guards, but he had never seen them in the waking world, their touch was ticklish, their laughter high and bright, and as one of them entered inside his orange life jacket, he shivered. You might be reading a stolen copy.

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"Brrrrr.... it is cold," he said, his voice shaky and carrying a note of surprise. Celeste's voice carried on amused, "It is one of my Illuminated innate traits, they are manifestations of my will, echoes of my presence." Lucid nodded, understanding dawning, but before he could respond, Ayame stepped forward and cut the air, shattering the small copies into bits and pieces, everyone looked at her, their expressions carrying a mixture of surprise and confusion.

Another copy appeared at the hem of her clothes, popping out of her chest, she looked down indifferently, her expression unchanged, and everyone laughed, the sound breaking the tension and filling the square with a warmth that had been absent for so long. In that moment, surrounded by laughter and the remnants of everything they had been through. After a bit he resumed talking in his usual tone.

"We didn't do it for the domain," Lucid said honestly.

"I am aware," the magistrate replied.

"But the result remains the same regardless of motive. Sometimes that's enough."

"If, ever you find yourselves in Port Vexis... feel free to drop by the courthouse it is a much better tourist destination then the kingdom of Vex""But you are in the same kingdom..." Lucid commented. She smiled and looked at them for a bit She walked away, leaving Lucid and Arthur standing in the market square. Shops slowly filled with customers, watching life slowly return to streets that had been empty and fearful for far too long.

'A small victory,' Alice observed.

'Small victories add up,' Lucid thought back, though even he wasn't entirely convinced of his own optimism. Arthur clapped him on the shoulder, the gesture brief but genuine.

"Come on," Arthur said.

"Let's find somewhere to eat. I'm starving, and you look like you could use something that isn't soggy oatmeal and jerky."

"Yeah... Yeah..." Lucid managed something close to a laugh, pocketing the platinum mark as they made their way through the recovering market, past shops opening their doors, past merchants calling out prices.

Walking along the shoreline, a familiar yellow haired individual moved at an easy pace. He observed the coast and let the sea breeze pass over him. He stretched his arms upward as he looked over the water. He gazed at the two moons reflecting across his eyes. He held a small pendant. A familiar image sat etched into its surface. He traced it with the tip of his finger. Carefully. As precious as a family heirloom.

'Every day, I am forgetting your face.' He pulled off the pale blue vest and cap he had been wearing. He let the clothes drop onto the wet sand, where the tide would carry them off soon enough. This could not be it. Could it? A dark coat materialized over his shoulders, as though it had always been there waiting. His shoes turned pristine in the same instant, freshly colored in a deep black ink that looked wet without being wet. Everything changed. The way he walked. The way he carried his weight.

All of it shifted in a single breath. He pulled out a lighter and lit a cigarette. He watched his old clothes drift further into the ocean as he took a slow pull. A muddy gold coat now sat across his shoulders, the dark fabric beneath it stitched through with golden thread and jewelry that caught the moonlight. Playing the hero had been entertaining enough while it lasted, but Pilt had come here for a reason, and he had not forgotten it for a single moment. He cursed under his breath.

"I have wasted too much time." The embers of the cigarette scattered into the wind, dissipating, marking how much time he had actually lost. In the distance sat the place he had rented with a colleague. He continued walking, leaving wet footprints in the sand that dirtied his polished shoes with each step. As he drew one of his last pulls from the cigarette, a figure of gold materialized in front of him.

"That is going to kill you, kind sir." He stopped dead in his tracks. He did not recognize her. A girl with a satchel slung across one shoulder, a hat shadowing her eyes. White shirt. Strapped dark leather pants. Everything about her posture suggested she had been waiting. He flicked the cigarette toward the waves. His expression did not change. This was Pilt. Little changed his expression. Little shocked him. Little made him reconsider a single decision once it was made.

Pilt was the name that carried weight, the kind that seized every opportunity placed in front of it with surgical precision. Nobody who had ever crossed the man had lived long enough to speak his name as a warning to others.

"You are also loitering around," he said. He tilted his head. His eyes sharpened, something close to predatory settling behind them.

"State your business," he said. Brief. The girl seemed to sway, her presence flickering at the edges like a candle catching wind.

"Those who enter the domain and leave always carry their belongings back to the outside," she said.

"You managed to get rid of every single currency. Every single belonging inside that domain."

"Yet, Valen Thorne." She paused.

"Has something left in the domain of Mercyros."

"I believe that is one of my identities," he said. His eyes closed briefly. A small nod of confirmation. Then his gaze snapped open. Sharp enough to cut through whatever stood in front of him.

"I, Pilt, have not left anything there." His voice was flat.

"Precisely." She nodded. A smile crossed her face, unsettling in how genuine it looked.

"You have a transaction to make." Pilt's hand became wrapped in a golden aura, light pooling around his fingers like liquid metal.

"Get lost." The air rippled with golden light as sand kicked up in a sudden burst around them.

"I cannot predict your words, nuisance," he said, unaffected by the sand in the air. t As everything settled down, the dust of the sand began settling down he stretched his wrist. He lowered his hand and turned toward where he had been staying. For the first time, a quiet uncertainty, something that resembled fear, began to claw its way up from his stomach. As Pilt. Which was, in its own way, deeply amusing and interesting. He kept walking. His coat swaying behind him, carried by the wind.