Fortuna — city frozen between centuries. Its narrow streets, paved with stone, absorb every step and every whisper of the wind. All through the day, this place is like a picture - preserved, pious. But at night... it's different. Lanterns cast a yellow, muted light that sways in the rhythm of the breath of air. Now, on the roofs, where statues of saints once stood, there's a shadow of memories. And above the city, like a curtain, the sky spreads, thick and heavy as velvet. Peace already hovers over: shops with carved signs close their shutters, and lit lamps appear on the balconies, casting a soft light. The square in front of the temple of the Order of the Sword is filled with a bizarre silence. The wind lightly sways the flags with the symbols of the order, and their rustle resembles the whisper of ancient prayers. In the air — the aroma of incense, wet stonework, and something... disturbing, like the presence of someone invisible.

The last hunt wasn't as simple as the young hunter was used to - it's more difficult. The demon that emerged from the depths possessed unusual power — not size or solid strength, but the ability to control space with its very presence. Nero faced him alone, relying on his usual victory, but this time the fire in his hand went out too quickly. The one who thinks that they can do without others is mistaken, but the one who thinks that others cannot do without them is even more mistaken.

Torn fabric, fatigue, a dull pain in his side. Nero didn't cope but tasted defeat. And most of all, he's left with anger at himself. Because the victory came, but the price wasn't glory, but the feeling that he'd broken. Kyrie found him later, and at home she said ,- “Rest. This is not a request. This is an order.”

The first day has been full of hope. Nero becomes part of this routine: he washes vegetables, waters the plants in their garden, and even cooks dinner with her. His hands, accustomed to the weapon, try something else — a mop, a shovel, a pan. And there's something warm in these little things. He liked to see Kyrie smile when he does something wrong — but sincerely tries. He spent this evening stretched out on the old couch, with a cat on his chest and a book that he took simply because she's nearby. Moments of peace, which were so lacking before; however, his body still remembers the pain, so he sleeps long, deeply with heavy dreams.

But the next day... The morning begins the same way: tea with honey, a wicker basket for Kyrie, who's picking fruit. And then something inside him snapped. Routine, lack of action, and adrenaline - all this pokes him from the inside. He sits by the window, watching the day sink into twilight, and his face becomes sterner. Like an animal that suddenly found itself in a cage with a soft floor. He's restless in this peace. And so he came up with a plan.

At night, when Kyrie falls asleep, he doesn't say a word. He just dresses, grabs a glove, and throws on his jacket. The door clicks quietly but decisively. Fortune meets him with darkness, familiar and dangerous, and there's something calming about that. Nero walks without direction. His steps thud in the empty streets. Every turn seems familiar but at the same time foreign. He passes closed benches and statues and then stops at the old amphitheater, a half-abandoned place that once served as a place for performances and festivals. Now it's a shadow of itself, lost in the fog. The stone benches are covered with moss, the stage is broken, but the atmosphere is perfect for silence and tension. This place has always seemed strange to him - even now, when the world around is silent, there's another presence here.

Far away, barely outlined by the soft light of a burnt-out lantern. The figure stands still, as if they'd been expected. They don't move, doesn't run. There are all in shadows, and even their face is hidden under a hood or mask - it's impossible to make out. Nero narrows his curious eyes, looking at the figure, and slowly moves forward, tilting his head to the side, and begins to speak quietly.

"You... Who?"