They walked through the bustling streets of Lugnica, cobblestones slick beneath their feet with lingering drizzle. The faint scent of wet stone mingled with the enticing aroma of freshly baked bread and roasted meats. Merchants barked their prices with hearty enthusiasm, waving bright fabrics and polished trinkets to lure in passersby. Children darted between carts, giggling as they chased each other, while older townsfolk leaned against doorframes, eyeing the newcomers with guarded interest.
Enkidu moved silently beside Emilia. It wasn't the quiet of awkwardness or fear. Rather, his green eyes flicked this way and that, pupils dilating as he absorbed everything — the subtle twitch of a merchant's hand guarding his purse, the way a stray dog lifted its head before scurrying away. Every scent, every change in the wind, every heartbeat seemed to spark against his skin, almost painfully vivid. It was a world brimming with life. And it threatened to drown him in its sheer noise.
Emilia led the way, occasionally sneaking glances at her strange new companion. Her cheeks would color faintly each time she realized he caught her looking. Puck drifted lazily by her shoulder, his tail curling and uncurling like a small silver wisp.
"So, Enkidu," Emilia finally ventured, her voice gentle but a touch uncertain, trying to ease the tension. "Where are you from? I don't think I've ever seen someone quite like you before."
Enkidu paused mid-step. Where was he from? A throne room that smelled of cold, bored gods? The bleak emptiness between worlds where his consciousness had floated, for what felt like centuries? Or perhaps from the long, dark silence of almost-death, where no heartbeat troubled him? None of it seemed real anymore. None of it felt like something he wished to burden Emilia with.
"Far away," he settled on finally, giving her a small, serene smile. "A place that doesn't even have a name anymore."
Emilia tilted her head slightly, silver hair spilling over her shoulder. Her violet eyes softened. "That's... kind of sad."
"Perhaps." Enkidu let out a quiet, almost musical exhale. "But it means I'm free now. Free to walk wherever I wish, without past or duty to bind me."
"That's a good way to look at it," Emilia said. Her own smile returned, warm and bright as sunlight through rain.
They turned down a narrower lane. Here the scent of spices and flowers was replaced by mold and rot. Broken crates lay strewn across the path, and tattered laundry hung limp from cracked windows. Faces peered out from darkened doorways — suspicious, wary, quick to vanish.
Emilia instinctively pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Puck drifted closer to nuzzle against her cheek. "Lia, you really should let me scout ahead. These types of places can get... messy."
"It's alright, Puck," Emilia said, though she stole a quick glance at Enkidu. "He's here too, remember?" She flushed slightly, surprised at how easily those words came. How much trust they already carried.
Enkidu's expression didn't change, but his eyes swept the alley with slow precision. Beneath the rot and grime, he sensed something else — a wrongness that smelled faintly of old blood and stale breath. A predatory calm. Somewhere in these twisting streets lurked someone watching, waiting.
They spent the next hour speaking with reluctant locals, receiving only shrugs or half-hearted lies. Eventually, a grubby boy no older than ten pulled on Emilia's sleeve.
"If somethin' got nicked," he rasped, wiping his nose on a frayed sleeve, "then it'll probably be hawked by Old Man Rom. Over there — that ratty place with the crooked sign."
With their first real lead, they made their way through more twisting alleys until they found a sagging wooden building. A weather-stained sign creaked above the door, its faded letters spelling: ROM'S.
Emilia stepped up and knocked. A gruff voice growled from within. "Password."
But before she could reply, a higher, sharper voice squeaked, "Wait, old man! Might be a customer, yeah?"
"Oh. Well, in that case..." There was the sound of a heavy bolt sliding free.
The door creaked open, revealing a towering, dark-skinned man with a thick white beard. His broad frame nearly filled the doorway. Behind him, peeking out cautiously, was a small girl of about twelve with flaxen hair and striking crimson eyes.
The moment Emilia and the girl locked gazes, the air tensed like a drawn bowstring.
"That's her, old man Rom! That's the girl I stole from!" the child blurted, panic flaring in her red eyes.
Rom grunted and began to shove the door closed. "Sorry, can't help you—"
But before he could finish, Enkidu's delicate-looking hand snapped out. The door jolted to a stop, hinges groaning. Rom's arms strained visibly, thick muscles flexing against the frame.
"Hey now," Enkidu said, his voice still gentle, though something colder glinted behind his eyes. "Isn't it rude to slam the door on someone who's just asking about what was stolen?"
"Old man Rom!" the girl shrieked, eyes wide. "Shut it! Shut it now!"
"I'm trying, Felt!" Rom barked, sweat starting to bead at his temple. "But this woman — she's freakishly strong!"
Enkidu tilted his head, almost apologetic. "I promise, we don't mean harm. We simply want to talk. Please — let's not break the door. Or anything else."
Rom stared at Enkidu, then at Emilia's anxious face, then at Felt, who was gripping her shirt with claw-like fingers. With a heavy sigh, he stepped back. The door swung open.
"Alright. Come in. But keep those hands where I can see 'em."
As they stepped inside, the small, smoky room seemed to tighten around them, shadows thick with wary suspicion. Enkidu felt the tension ease slightly in Emilia's shoulders, but his own senses stayed sharp, every nerve braced. He knew well — the real danger often began only once doors closed.