“So…” The girl, Stephanie, said, “I would need to get another tattoo? Why the hell would I need to go through that again, though?”

“Tattoos are what we use to channel the magical Disciplines we fight with,” Kito explained, sitting back in his seat, “So if you want to learn the Bolt Discipline you’ll need to get the corresponding tattoo. Bolt is also the perfect companion Discipline to Aura, so it’s a brilliant choice, given how much you’ve been progressing with Aura. Just keep in mind that you can only have three Disciplines, so you’ll need to choose carefully. So if it’s really Bolt you want I can write you a letter for the Enchanter. If you’d like, the one in the Blue District, around Raker’s Alley is really good.”

“I think I’d need to ask my mum and dad.” Stephanie said, face scrunching up, then forming a small frown, “Why can we only use three? Wouldn’t it be better if we could use all of them?”

“Aye, that would definitely be better,” Kito chuckled, “But I don’t make the rules. Humans have only ever been able to use three. Even just gaining the tattoo for one more would make your soul start to focus on the magical energies used for the Discipline more than the energy used to keep your physical form. Eventually, your physical body would disappear.”

“That doesn’t sound too fun.”

“I wouldn’t say so, no.” Kito replied with a knowing nod, and picked up a small journal from the table next to him, taking a moment to consider, before handing it to Stephanie, “I can let you have a leaf through this if you make sure to bring it back on your next lesson, alright?”

“What is it?”

“It’s a journal detailing every known Discipline and their practical uses in and out of combat, with my own personal notes added in for each as well. Having a read through that might help you choose a couple of good ones.”

“Thank you!” Stephanie beamed, leaping to her feet and clutching the journal to her chest before skipping out of the room. Kito thought about telling her there was still five minutes of her lesson left, but he simply shook his head with a grin. He had been tutoring for almost fifteen years now, the money didn’t hurt, especially on top of the work he was doing for the Alliance, but his main reason for tutoring was to help younger teens and sometimes even children get a better grip on magic at an earlier stage. Young Stephanie, in particular, was a very talented student – arguably more so than Kito was at her age. That journal would be an asset to her for sure. He just hoped he wouldn’t need to chase her up for it too much. He had spent the better part of two months noting down his thoughts on varying magical Disciplines for it… Kito busied himself tidying away all of his notes before making his way out of the mansion, enjoying the rays of the summer sun

One of the other big reasons for taking up tutoring was the same reason he had greenhouses and gardens now. The amount of spare time he had after the end of the war had taken too long to become accustomed to. So he sat, clipping the longer twigs on one of his more exotic plants from a small island off the coast of a large continent on Sentria and letting his mind wander. The little plant had small thin vines that twirled and wriggled on their own, and Kito found it rather mesmerising. He smiled as one of the little vines wrapped itself around his finger, seemingly appreciative of the preening. A lot of his plants were similarly unique, some of them a little dangerous ‒ requiring him to keep his fingers away from snapping traps and thorned tendrils as he tended and watered them. It would probably feel tedious to many, but his mind seemed to clear up whenever he was tending to plants, especially the more exotic or interesting ones from other Realms. He was having a slightly harder time of clearing his head today, however. It was most likely the dream he had had the night before. Blood, death, destruction. The twenty years of war had definitely had a lasting effect on him. Katy understood the feeling well enough. Having fought alongside him, she often woke the same way he did: sweating, scared. Tense. This particular dream he hadn’t been expecting, however ‒ the battle of Yhor’Dheel where Xan was defeated. Though it wasn’t his fight with Xan his dream had focused on, no. That would have made more sense. It was the previous struggle against Xan’s closest adviser and general: Ardor. Kito found his hand moving up to his cheek. Ardor had given him his scar during their fight, the permanent reminder of one of the many times he had almost died in that damn city. His defeat of Ardor 11 years prior to the final battle had made him a legend ‒ and their second encounter in Yhor’Dheel had ended with Ardor’s death. Kito considered his duel with Ardor to be his biggest accomplishment, even if most people remembered Kito for his defeat of Xan in that battle. That was mostly due to the efforts of all the leaders who fought before them. His mind started to fixate on a particular moment; Xan’s hand, lifting to end the fight. Kito’s brow was furrowed, his breaths coming rather too quickly and he hadn’t noticed that his hands were now down by his sides. He looked up at the red leaves of the plant he was tending and exhaled slowly. Strength was starting to return to his limbs over time, and he managed to get to his feet, supporting his weight with his hands on the cabinet in front of him. He took a moment, taking deep breaths. At first, whenever these moments came, his impatience would make them infinitely worse, as he attempted to force his breathing to slow down, try to make his heart stop thudding. The idea of riding it out never even occurred to him until Katy had helped him through it. He closed his eyes, breathing almost under control, his tense muscles beginning to relax. After another few moments, he stood up, letting out one last rasping exhalation before making his way out of the greenhouse.

Kito quickly found Katy in one of the living rooms, playing a game with her feet up. He was greeted with a gorgeous smile as she raised her legs, letting him take his seat before plonking them back down onto his lap and continuing to play.

“Are you doing okay?” Katy said, glancing at him.

“Yeah, I’m grand now,” Kito smiled back, “Just that dream last night.”

“I know how it is, baby. You know I’m always here for you.” She gave him a quick kiss before resuming her game.

“Of course,” Kito rubbed his wife’s knee playfully, “How about you? Good game?”

“New game.” Katy grinned, voice tingling with excitement, “It just came out last week, been waiting to play it for ages.”

Kito grinned, watching Katy’s mannerisms as she animatedly explained the intricacies of this newest installation of her favourite game series. He was personally more interested in traditional RPGs, though he could see the appeal of these types of games. How good it clearly felt when Katy defeated a very difficult boss and breathed out that deep sigh of relief was something Kito could understand well. The more tries it took, the better she would get and the more satisfying the payoff would eventually be. He had felt that himself. Though a new inclusion the past few years had been Kito’s empathetic yelping and gripping of Katy’s leg when she was close to dying or when something intense happened. Eventually, she turned the game off and they turned a show on in the background, huddling on the couch for warmth.

“You could turn the heating on,” Katy said with her face mostly nuzzled into Kito’s shoulder.

“But…” Kito managed, having sunken so far into the couch it was as if he and the couch were one, “That would require getting up.”

Katy’s quiet grunt and subsequent cuddling was sign enough to Kito of her acknowledgement.

***

It was strange… The man was on his arms and knees. The ground beneath him was rough, coarse against the bare skin. It was certainly an odd sensation, being able to feel again. He slowly began getting to his feet, sucking in a breath for the first time in so many years, though it felt wrong somehow. Breathing had felt so natural before, he remembered that much, but now he didn’t even seem to have the need for it. That wasn’t all, either: he felt light and strong, his muscles tight under his pale skin, just like before he had died. The man took a few moments to feel the air, the ground, his own body before looking around at his surroundings. He was standing in a crater, dust and hot air swirling around him. It was huge, with small buildings around it, crumbled and billowing smoke. This village was familiar. It was where his last memories took place, fending off a huge horde alongside his team. He looked up, his eyes quickly getting used to the night-time darkness. Catching sight of a dark figure standing on the outer edge of the crater, the man’s eyes narrowed. The figure was black against the night sky, armoured and wreathed in dark cloth that was heavily tattered and whipping in the wind. The man in the crater took no more than two steps toward it before the darkness of night swooped in, the figure vanishing in the blink of an eye.

The man made his way out of the crater, looking down at himself for the first time. His skin was covered in dust, dirt and soot. Sighing as he surveyed the town, he swept lank bangs of his hair away from his eyes. It was dark and the streets narrow, so he started off down the closest street to him, his feet slapping against the uneven stone pavements. The buildings were cracked and scuffed, but the majority were at least whole. The very fact that the buildings were standing at all, however precariously, told him they had won the battle. Now all he had to do was find the townspeople… Though hopefully not without clothes.

It only took 10 minutes to find a back garden with a washing line that was in use, and given there wasn’t anyone around he figured he’d have a look. Grabbing a pair of baggy jogging bottoms and a loose shirt, he pulled them on quickly and made his way back onto the streets. It was then that he came across it. An inhabitant. More precisely, the corpse of what was once a young man, lying face down in an alleyway. Even from where he was standing, the man from the crater could see the blood pooling around it. He jogged over to the body and kneeled beside it. Fresh, the blood still bright and wet. Chunks of flesh were missing, seemingly ripped off at random. Had something been eating the body, a creature scavenging from it? He wasn’t aware of any man-eating monster with such a small jaw, at least not any native to this continent. Sighing, he yanked the boots from the feet of the corpse and slipped them onto his own, fastening and buckling them tightly. After all, this poor soul wouldn’t be needing shoes anymore. Perhaps the heel was a little too big, but he wasn’t about to complain.

Walking quickly, the man rounded the bend leading out of the alley and started down yet another narrow street. This wasn’t a small village. It was becoming increasingly odd that it was so desolate. Eventually, his gaze was drawn to the warm yellow light of a squat corner shop on the roadside. He immediately made a beeline for the light and pushed the glass door open, a bell lightly tinkling as it closed behind him. He took a moment, taking in the aisles of confectionary, clothes and hygiene products. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, though there was a conspicuous lack of employees. Cautiously, the man began making his way through the shelves of sweets and drinks. Walking along an aisle near the back, he stopped and caught sight of himself in a mirror. Even as covered in filth as he was, he could plainly see how much he had changed. His skin was almost as white as snow, as though his body had been drained of its blood, tinged a sickly green. He stepped closer and recoiled in shock. Once a dark black like his hair, his eyes were now a bright, glowing red. The pupils were narrow slits that seemed to widen to discs as he registered what he was seeing. His cheekbones, too, were deeper than he remembered now: narrow slices in his face that cast deep shadows. Staring for several moments, the truth finally began to sink in. He had risen from death. Why? Was it because something was happening in town? It could be a monster attack, though it would need to be incredibly serious if there was no other option but to raise him from the dead. That would mean that the monsters were definitely not native to Britannia, which was very bad for more than just one village. This could potentially mean an infestation of some kind, and not even the larger cities were equipped to deal with foreign man-eating monsters. If these were monsters from the black woods, or the Sahr marsh of Ezeru Apsu, that could even mean tensions between the Alliance and the kingdom of Magistrate were becoming more strained. The king of Magistrate had been known to use monsters as warfare tactics in the past. If that were the case, no wonder they brought him back. Village warriors or army lieutenants couldn’t possibly stand a chance against Magistrate’s Hunters. He’d just do what he had to do. After all, he’d already died once, dying again couldn’t be too bad.

The man cracked his neck and walked over to a clothing aisle, looking over the jackets on display. He thought to himself as he looked through the rack, he was in a shop, a fairly bustling shop by the low prices of a lot of these goods. Clearly it wasn’t normal for the village to be so dead, even at night if a small establishment like this could stay open. Finally one of the jackets caught his eye, and he pulled a long dark coat from its hanger and swung it around, slipping his arms into the sleeves and shaking it onto his shoulders in one fluid movement. The sleeves were tight and cuffed, the waist hugging his form tightly as well. The chest portion hung from him awkwardly, flapping around when he moved since it was designed to close up one side rather than the middle. It wasn’t exactly what he usually would have gone for, not quite as long as he liked, but it would do. He never quite felt comfortable without coat tails slapping at his calves, after all. The man browsed a few fully stocked shelves briefly, glancing at the items further down, though he had to pass by two whole aisles before finding what he was looking for. A small smile, and he ripped a small comb from its plastic wrapping, walking back over to the mirror. His hair combed as easily as if it had just been washed as he raked it back off of his face, letting bangs fall around, but not over his eyes. Finally feeling up for a hunt, the man made his way back to the glass door.