The city did not cheer.

  That was the first thing Sei noticed.

  Toradol moved the morning after the council chamber like a body waking from surgery—slow, careful, afraid of tearing stitches that hadn’t finished closing. Smoke still hung low between the rooftops, thin as breath in winter. The streets were crowded, but no one lingered. No one celebrated surviving.

  They watched.

  Sei felt it the moment he stepped beyond the inner hall. Eyes slid toward him and away just as quickly. Conversations faltered. Boots scraped stone where people adjusted their stance, making room he hadn’t asked for.

  He hadn’t changed. Not really. Same borrowed clothes. Same sore muscles. Same weight behind his eyes that sleep refused to touch.

  But the city had decided something about him overnight.

  Eva walked half a step ahead, armor muted beneath a travel cloak. She didn’t look at him when she spoke.

  “Keep your head up,” she said quietly. “And don’t react.”

  “To what?” Sei asked.

  She finally glanced back, sea-emerald hair catching the gray light. Her jaw tightened.

  “To whatever version of you they’ve decided to believe.”

  They passed a row of buildings whose upper floors had been burned out during the siege. Soldiers worked alongside civilians, hauling charred beams, passing buckets hand to hand. No banners. No speeches. Just work.

  A man straightened as Sei approached. Older. One arm bound tight at the shoulder. He stared for a long moment, then bowed—deep enough that his balance wavered.

  “Thank you,” the man said. His voice shook. “For my son.”

  Sei stopped.

  “I—” He hesitated, searching memory like a cluttered ward after a code blue. Blood. Shouting. Too many faces. “I’m sorry. I don’t—”

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  “You held his leg while they carried him,” the man continued, as if the details mattered more than the truth. “You kept him talking. He’s alive because of that.”

  Sei swallowed. His mouth felt dry.

  “I didn’t—” He stopped again. Correcting the man felt wrong. Accepting the thanks felt worse. “I’m glad he’s alive.”

  The man nodded as if that settled everything, then stepped aside. As they walked on, Sei’s chest tightened—not with pride, but with something closer to fear.

  Because he didn’t remember saving anyone.

  They turned into a narrower street. Here, the looks changed.

  A woman pulled her child closer as Sei passed. A pair of guards fell silent mid-argument. Someone crossed themselves with a warding gesture he didn’t recognize.

  “He healed the king,” a voice whispered too loudly.

  “No—he drained them,” another replied.

  “I heard the light swallowed the whole keep.”

  “He’s why the siege broke.”

  Each sentence shaved him into a different shape.

  Sei let out a breath that almost became a laugh. Almost.

  “So,” he muttered, “good news. I’m apparently five different people.”

  Eva didn’t smile.

  “They’re not grateful,” she said. “They’re deciding what you are.”

  That landed harder than any accusation.

  They reached a square where a makeshift shrine had been built from broken shields and candle stubs. Names were scratched into wood. Some were smudged. Some were fresh.

  A child sat cross-legged nearby, no older than seven. He looked up at Sei with wide eyes, then stood and ran over.

  “Mister!” the boy said, thrusting out a small bundle of flowers. “Mama says you’re the one who stopped the bad men.”

  Sei froze.

  “I didn’t—” He looked down at the flowers. Wilted. Picked too soon. “Hey. That’s… that’s really nice of you.”

  The boy grinned, triumphant, and ran back to his mother.

  Sei stared at the flowers in his hands like they might bite him.

  Eva watched his grip tighten, then loosen.

  “You don’t have to carry all of it,” she said softly.

  “I know,” Sei replied. Then, after a moment, “I just don’t know which parts are mine.”

  They continued on. The city slowly swallowed them—stone and wood and effort pressing in from all sides. Toradol was alive, battered but breathing, and Sei felt like a foreign object lodged somewhere vital.

  At the outer gate, a runner waited. Court colors. Official seal.

  He bowed to Eva, then glanced at Sei with open curiosity before handing over the scroll.

  “By order of the crown and council,” the runner recited, “you are formally requested for immediate service.”

  Eva broke the seal and read. Her expression didn’t change, but something in her shoulders went rigid.

  “A mission,” she said.

  Sei nodded slowly. Of course it was.

  “Humanitarian,” she added, like a warning. “Border village. Damage from the siege’s aftermath.”

  Sei looked back at the city—at the smoke, the rebuilding, the people who had already decided who he was without asking.

  “Right,” he said quietly. “Guess we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

  As they turned toward the gate, the bells of Toradol rang once. Not an alarm. Not a celebration.

  Just a marker.

  Sei stepped forward, unaware that this would be the last morning he would walk the city as an unknown.