Leonardo stood still, lost in thought, staring at the intricate carvings on the bathroom door. It was unlike the others, adorned with embellishments that seemed oddly grandiose for a simple restroom.

  His gaze shifted slightly, taking in the staircase that loomed beside it—a peculiar arrangement, a bathroom set just off the main stairwell, like an afterthought in the mansion's design.

  "How long have I been standing here?" he wondered, finally reaching for the handle. His fingers lingered on the cold brass, and as he turned the knob and pushed the door open, he was met with a sight that took him aback.

  The bathroom was a far cry from the utilitarian public baths of Volnia. Here, the walls gleamed with polished stone, reflecting the soft light from overhead fixtures that resembled hanging orbs of crystal.

  The floor was tiled in a geometric pattern that seemed to shift subtly as he moved, playing tricks on his eyes.

  "Why did I think it would be anything like Volnia?" he muttered, the contrast between this opulent room and the stark memories of his hometown washing over him.

  Volnia's public baths were functional, nothing more—cracked tiles, dim lighting, water that was often more tepid than warm.

  Bathing there was a luxury few could afford, and even then, it came with judgment. A daily bath was almost unheard of; to indulge in one was to invite curses from others who saw it as wasteful. Most of Volnia's people bathed once a month, or if they were unlucky, every two months.

  Even the prospectors, hardened by their relentless work in the mines, faced rumors of strange fates if they bathed too often.

  They said that if you entered a particular section of the mine and bathed afterward, you'd die instantly. Of course, no one knew of any real deaths; such stories were just another layer of superstition piled on top of the grueling reality of life in Volnia.

  But did it matter if they were true? No one cared to document the deaths of common folk in Volnia.

  Those who perished in the mines were simply forgotten, their names fading like dust in the wind.

  Only nobles, with their insufferable airs of superiority, had the luxury of having their lives and deaths recorded.

  Nobles enjoyed the finer things in life: daily baths, goods imported from distant lands beyond Moerlan, and a sense of entitlement so profound that it eclipsed any empathy they might have once had for those below them.

  Volnia housed only one noble family, and even they didn't reside in their estate within the town, preferring to stay on the outskirts, removed from the toil and hardship of the miners.

  Leonardo stepped further into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. His footsteps echoed slightly, the sound bouncing off the sleek, reflective surfaces. "But it was fine, I guess," Leonardo thought bitterly.

  It didn't matter how often one bathed or ate; everyone still showed up to work, day in and day out, scraping at the earth for agnite, because that was Volnia's purpose. That was Volnia's duty—a duty as immutable as the stone walls of the mines themselves.

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  "And I say, screw that," Leonardo muttered under his breath, his voice edged with a simmering anger. "I hate nobles. I hate them.

  They have everything handed to them, and yet it's like their luxuries have made them regress, like they've devolved into something less than human.

  They mock, they sneer, they laugh like rodents.

  They chatter like the endless rustling of cave bugs, completely blind to the life they live while others struggle to simply stand." His words were sharp, cutting through the silence of the bathroom as if he were speaking to the absent nobles themselves.

  Leonardo's eyes swept over the bathroom again, taking in the layout with a critical eye. The shower was nothing like he'd imagined.

  It consisted of two glowing discs—one embedded in the floor and another suspended in the ceiling directly above it.

  The discs emitted a soft blue light that hummed faintly, and Leonardo couldn't help but feel as though he were standing in some sort of ritual chamber rather than a bathroom. There were no walls around the shower area, no glass doors or curtains, just the glow of the discs casting gentle ripples of light across the floor.

  Anna had assured him that everything he needed would be here, but Leonardo felt lost in the unfamiliar setup.

  He glanced around, his eyes settling on a large bathtub at the far end of the room, half-hidden behind a thick curtain.

  Beside it stood a sizeable mirror, its frame ornately carved to match the intricate design of the bathroom door. He caught sight of himself in the mirror, his entire form reflected back at him—his red vest catching the dim light, contrasting sharply against the cool blues of the room.

  It was the same shade of red that adorned many of the mansion's interiors, a reminder of the opulence that clung to every corner of this place.

  Leonardo approached the mirror, his footsteps slow and deliberate, each step echoing slightly.

  He stopped in front of it, staring into his reflection with a mix of curiosity and unease.

  It was the first time he had truly seen himself. Sure, he'd caught glimpses in the foggy windows of his home or in the reflective visors of the masks worn by others, but this was different.

  This was clear, sharp, as though he were looking at another person entirely—someone he barely recognized.

  His hand rose to his face, fingers tracing the contours as if trying to confirm that the image staring back was indeed his own.

  His thoughts drifted back to the mask he once wore, a piece of his past now abandoned in favor of his new attire.

  The mask had been a shield, both literal and figurative, protecting him from the harsh judgments of Volnia and hiding his features from those who might see too much. Now, without it, his face was exposed—young, but marked with the quiet resolve of someone who had seen too much too soon.

  He wasn't tall enough to see every detail clearly, but what he could see was enough.

  His eyes wandered back to the sword strapped to his side, the one that had recently changed, adapting as if it were alive.

  The memory of Altan's armor surfaced in his mind—how it had clung to Altan's skin, not like armor at all, but more like a living thing, a second layer of flesh and metal seamlessly fused together.

  There was something unnerving about it. Leonardo's sword, too, had taken on a new life of its own, shifting and transforming in response to his touch, as though it were trying to communicate with him.

  "Does he have Ascendant Rasvian…?" Leonardo mused aloud, the question slipping out before he could catch it.

  Leonardo sighed, the weight of the day pressing down on him like a physical burden. "Anna said everything would be here," he whispered, almost as if trying to reassure himself.

  The warmth of the room, the soft glow of the lights, the promise of comfort—all of it felt distant, unable to reach the cold, nagging feeling of displacement that gnawed at his core. This place, with all its grandeur and luxury, was not Volnia.

  And he was not the Leonardo who used to walk the familiar, dusty streets of his mining town.

  He looked back into the mirror, meeting his own gaze once more. "Who am I now?" he wondered aloud, his voice barely more than a whisper. The reflection offered no answers, just the same red-vested figure, staring back with eyes full of questions and uncertainties.

  "I asked, and asked, and I received the same amount of answers, yet I feel like I still don't know anything," he murmured, gripping the sword's handle tightly.

  It was more than just a weapon now—it was a part of him, an extension of his very being, much like the armor and spear had been for Altan.

  Taking a deep breath.