The capital felt different this time.
Last time, it had spit Naofumi out—broke, disgraced, and alone. Now he walked its streets with people at his side.
Not a crowd. Not followers.
A team.
Kaley flanked him, quiet but alert. Her presence turned heads—even in her most unassuming armor, she radiated command. Raphtalia kept close, her cloak drawn and eyes constantly scanning.
They drew attention. The kind Naofumi still hated.
"Eyes forward," Kaley said under her breath. "Ignore the noise."
"Easy for you to say," he muttered. "You could vaporize half this city if you wanted."
She looked at him. "But I won't. Because you asked me not to."
He blinked.
Right. She listened to him.
That was still something he hadn't fully wrapped his head around.
They passed a narrow alley where a child dropped a basket of fruit, and a runaway cart wheeled toward him. Before anyone could shout, Kaley moved—faster than eyes could follow. She caught the cart, spun it, and stopped it cold.
She said nothing. Just nodded to the boy and kept walking.
The crowd stared.
They headed toward the forge district.
A familiar clang of hammer on steel echoed from a nearby shop, followed by a shout.
"Oi! Shield Kid! That you?"
Naofumi turned—and for the first time in what felt like months, he smiled.
"Erhard."
The blacksmith wiped his hands on a rag and stepped out from his shop, thick arms folded, grin wide.
"You've got better posture than the last time I saw you. And a better crowd."
His eyes scanned Kaley, lingering on the armor.
"Well damn. That's some piece of craftsmanship. Is that dwarven?"
Kaley raised an eyebrow. "Not quite."
"She's not from here," Naofumi said quickly.
"No kidding."
Erhard waved them in. "Come on, come on. You look like you could use a resupply. Maybe something without rust on the edge this time."
Inside, the forge was hot and alive. Steel hissed and flared. Racks of weapons lined the walls, and a fresh batch of shields gleamed in the back.
Raphtalia was already poking around, her fingers tracing the edges of hilts and scabbards with growing familiarity. She glanced now and then at Kaley—mirroring her movements, mimicking her stillness when uncertain, unconsciously stepping where Kaley had stepped just moments before.
Kaley stood still, eyes scanning the tools with faint curiosity.
"I've never seen some of these alloys before," she murmured.
"You work with weapons?" Erhard asked.
"I am a weapon."
He blinked. Then barked a laugh.
"I like her."
They stocked up—better swords for Raphtalia, new plates for Naofumi's shield array.
Kaley didn't ask for anything. But she watched Raphtalia with a quiet eye—not evaluating, not correcting. Just… observing. As if she were memorizing the way the girl moved. Not like a mentor charting progress. More like someone who was beginning to understand the shape of someone else's growth the way a parent notices when a child stops flinching at shadows.
Until they were about to leave.
"Do you have a mirror?" she asked Erhard.
The blacksmith frowned. "Not one that'll flatter you."
"Perfect."
He brought one out—small, steel-framed.
Kaley looked into it.
And her eyes sharpened.
The reflection looked back, and behind her image, he was there.
A silhouette, standing in a crack along the wall of her world—a figure made of shadow and stillness, faceless and unmoving. The same shape she had seen in the flicker during the sigil event.
She didn't flinch.
"Still watching?" she asked quietly.
The mirror rippled, and a voice whispered—not in words, but intent.
"I remember you."
Kaley stared it down.
"I remember everything. The Zariman. The Old War. The betrayal of the Orokin. The New War. The choices I made when everyone else broke."
The reflection didn't respond.
Because it didn't have to.
Kaley snapped the mirror shut.
"I'm not afraid of ghosts."
That evening, as the fire crackled in Erhard's backroom, Naofumi sat across from Kaley.
He was quiet for a while.
Then, as casually as he could muster:
"If someone ordered you to kill me, would you?"
Kaley didn't even blink.
"No one commands me."
Naofumi nodded, then smirked. "Not even me?"
Her eyes narrowed in amusement. "You? Sometimes."
Across the room, Raphtalia stifled a laugh.
Later that night, Raphtalia climbed to the roof.
She found Kaley staring at the stars, the mirror resting by her side like a warning.
"I can take watch," Raphtalia offered.
Kaley didn't answer.
Raphtalia placed her cloak beside her. The motion was tentative but practiced—something she'd learned, maybe from Kaley herself. "You're not alone."
Kaley nodded slowly.
"I know. That's why I keep standing."
Downstairs, Erhard leaned over the table toward Naofumi.
"You trust her?"
Naofumi didn't hesitate. "Yes."
"She's dangerous."
"I know."
"Good. Then protect her like you mean it. The second they turn on her, they'll come for you next."
Naofumi's jaw clenched. "They already have."
The next morning, as they passed the central square, a group of adventurers walked by—loud, armored, too polished to be practical.
Ren and Itsuki were among them.
They didn't stop. Didn't even glance at Naofumi.
But Kaley noticed them.
"They look like boys playing at war," she murmured.
Naofumi's tone was flat. "That's because they are."
She didn't say what else she saw: the way the shadow behind her reflection had leaned closer when those two passed by.
But she was watching.
Always watching.