Tusk and I talked for hours, the conversation flowing as easily as the drinks he poured. I told him everything, starting from the moment I regained consciousness in that prison cell. I described our daring escape, the fragments of memories that slowly started to resurface, and the constant fog that still clouded my mind.
Tusk listened intently, his eyes never leaving mine as I spoke. He nodded occasionally, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. When it was his turn, he shared stories from our past, filling in the gaps that my amnesia had left behind.
He also told me about the new gangs and groups that had emerged in the underground world since I'd been gone. Names like the Crimson Daggers and the Shadow Syndicate were thrown around, each one more ominous than the last.
As the sun began to set, we made our way down to the first floor of the tavern. I helped Tusk get everything ready for the evening rush, wiping down tables and restocking the bar. We shared a few more shots, the burn of the alcohol a welcome warmth in my chest.
Finally, I knew it was time for me to leave. "It's time for me to go," I said with a smile, grabbing my coat from the back of a chair. "I need to train. It was nice to see you, old man."
Tusk nodded, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "It was a pleasure, son," he replied, his voice gruff but sincere.
I made my way towards the exit, my mind already racing with the new information I'd learned. Just as I reached for the door handle, Tusk called out to me from behind the bar.
"Hey, March!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the din of the tavern. "You changed, but don't let that bother you. It seems like you've just become a better version of who you were."
I felt a lump form in my throat, the words hitting me harder than I expected. I wanted to thank him, to tell him how much his support meant to me, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, I just nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth as I pushed open the door and stepped out into the night.
I stepped out into the cool night air, my mind still reeling from the conversation with Tusk. The weight of his words settled deep in my chest as I made my way back towards the house where August and I had come from. I couldn't help but notice the increasing number of people wearing the same distinctive clothing I had seen at Keifi - dark fabrics with subtle markings that seemed to identify them as members of some organization. It was like a massive gang had taken over the streets, their presence growing more oppressive with each passing block. The sight of them only fueled the anger and determination burning inside me to destroy them, to rid the city of whatever threat they posed.
Suddenly, a familiar voice caught my attention, cutting through the ambient noise of the night. "Hey! That was the only way!" August shouted from a nearby alley, his voice carrying that characteristic heat I'd come to recognize.
A female voice retorted, sharp and filled with frustration, "Oh yeah? How about you finally stop doing such stuff and just live like a normal human? Is that too much to ask?"
"Like you? Is that normal?" August shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm and barely contained rage.
The sound of a slap echoed through the alley, sharp and decisive, followed by the harsh clang of metal against metal and the unmistakable noises of a fight about to break out. My muscles tensed instinctively as I quickly rushed towards the commotion, my heart pounding in my chest, ready for whatever confrontation awaited me.
As I turned the corner, I saw a dark-haired woman with piercing blue eyes that seemed to cut through the darkness of the alley. She was in a defensive stance, her body coiled like a spring, with a well-maintained sword gripped tightly in her right hand and pointed directly at August, who glared back at her with pure fury in his eyes, his hands crackling with barely contained energy.
"Are you in trouble?" I asked, catching August's attention for the first time, my own hands ready to move at the first sign of escalation.
The woman's blue eyes widened in surprise before narrowing suspiciously, her sword remaining steady. "So you really came back. I thought people were lying," she said, her gaze never leaving mine, studying me as if searching for something in my features.
August sighed, his anger dissipating slightly like steam from a kettle. "It's fine, March. That's Julia, my friend," he explained, his voice tired and strained, though I noticed he emphasized the word 'friend' with a hint of irony.
Julia sheathed her sword with a sigh, her gaze fixed on August. "You are just too stubborn, okay?" she said, her voice tinged with resignation as she looked down. "And it's not like it's a good thing."
She walked past us, her footsteps echoing in the narrow alley. "Just try not to get yourself killed, stupid," she called over her shoulder, the words hanging in the air like a warning.
August opened his mouth as if to retort, but instead, he just waved his hand angrily and punched the wall beside him, the impact reverberating through the bricks. I turned to him, concern etched on my face. "You okay?" I asked, watching as he nodded, his jaw clenched tight.
We made our way back to the house in silence, the weight of our thoughts pressing down on us like a physical force. My mind raced with questions, fragments of memories and emotions swirling together in a dizzying kaleidoscope. August seemed equally lost in his own musings, his brow furrowed and his eyes distant.
As we stepped through the portal and into Dzvilla, a surprise awaited us. There, in the dining room, sat April, his body still wrapped in bandages, but a broad smile stretched across his face. The sight of him, alive and recovering, was like a balm to my troubled soul, and I felt a weight lift from my shoulders.
The room buzzed with energy, strangers from Dzvilla mingling with our group, their laughter and chatter filling the air. January was deep in conversation with some of them, his expression animated and engaged. The atmosphere was light and cheerful, a stark contrast to the tension that had followed us from the alley.
I watched as more people filtered into the dining room, their presence adding to the already bustling atmosphere. The casual conversations and shared laughter almost made me forget about the encounter with Julia in the alley. Almost.
A hush fell over the room as Brick stepped in. His attempt at a pleasant smile didn't reach his eyes, which gleamed with barely contained rage.
"April, so good to see you again," Brick's voice dripped with false sweetness. "Next time be a little more prepared. We don't want to lose such fighters as you."
His gaze shifted to me, and despite maintaining that plastic smile, his eyes burned with pure hatred. "May I ask you to talk in private?"
August leaned close, his breath hot against my ear. "It's Brick, probably some news came to him about morning at Keifi."
I rose from my seat, meeting Brick's stare. Something strange happened then - instead of feeling intimidated, a wave of calm washed over me. My confidence surged, and suddenly Brick seemed less threatening, more like an annoying insect than a real danger.
"Sure, let's talk," I replied, my voice as cold as winter frost.
My friends stood up behind me, a solid wall of support. I noticed Brick hadn't come alone either - his gang waited outside, their shadows visible through the doorway.
Once we stepped out of the dining room, Brick's facade crumbled. His face contorted with anger, his previous smile replaced by an ugly scowl.
"You gave my crew trouble when they were on the job, March. That's not how things run around here," he snarled. "Your operation was dead and Assassin gave me permission to control this territory. And while we don't have to play nice together, we definitely can't afford to be hostile."
"I don't really care about your territory or your business," I said, meeting Brick's gaze with unwavering intensity. "The moment your guys touched Tusk, that is the moment you made this personal matter."
Brick's face shifted, amusement dancing in his eyes. He clearly hadn't expected me to dismiss the territory so easily. His lips curved into a malicious smile.
"So you're saying you would break Assassins rules, just because your half-dead half-father got a little beating?"
The words barely left his mouth before my hand shot out, fingers wrapping around his throat. I slammed him against the wall, the impact echoing through the hallway. A glint of metal caught my eye - Brick had brought a small knife, its tip hovering near my neck. Behind me, I heard the quick movements of his gang, followed immediately by my friends shifting into combat stances.
January's hand gripped my shoulder firmly. He gestured toward the walls, drawing my attention to the paintings that lined the hall. I froze as I noticed their eyes - every single portrait seemed to be watching us, waiting. The painted gazes bore into us with an unsettling intensity.
"Not. Here," January said, each word sharp and distinct.
I released my grip on Brick's throat, stepping back as both groups created distance between themselves. The tension in the air remained thick enough to cut with a knife.
"You touch Keifi and his owner again and that will be the last thing you do," I growled, turning my back on Brick and his crew. There was nothing more to be gained here - we both knew it.
I followed the others to April's room, my mind still churning with anger from the confrontation with Brick. January closed the door behind us, his expression grave.
"I need details. Now." January's voice cut through the tension.
August and I took turns explaining what happened at Keifi - the ambush on Tusk, the alchemical drugs they'd used to weaken him, the fight that followed. With each word, I watched January's carefully controlled expression crack. His hands clenched into fists, knuckles white.
"I understand. Okay, we will think of something," January said, turning to me. "But you should get stronger, don't waste your strength and just try to train. We will watch over Keifi and try to get help from different people." He paused, jaw tight. "And I will talk to Assassin. Brick is attacking basically us, so this should be against the rules."
We spent the next hour discussing potential allies and protective measures for Keifi. April contributed when he could, but I noticed his responses growing slower, his eyelids heavy. The injuries were clearly taking their toll.
Seeing April's exhaustion, we wrapped up our discussion and headed to our respective rooms. When I pushed open my door, I found a leather-bound book on my desk titled "Good control, small magic." A small note rested on top: "You should read this."
I recognized Alfred's neat handwriting. Settling into the chair, I opened the book and began reading about magical theory and control techniques. The words began to blur together as exhaustion crept in, and before I knew it, my head drooped onto the open pages.