Player 0.4 [You have died.] [Reset in progress.]

It had been only a year since Micah last visited here, yet the decline was staggering.

He stepped out of the unmarked carriage and gazed up at the enormous Kobar Mountains that sat as a backdrop to the once great city of Lekar, the capital of the Kobar Empire. In Adovoria, the Summer Festival was but six days away. Yet here, winter was ever present in the tall snow-dusted peaks. They loomed vast and immovable, unlike the empire that was now but a shell of its former grandeur.

Click.

He snapped open his golden looking glass.

"Any abnormalities?" His voice was rougher than usual, pitched a note higher, still strange to his own ears.

"No," came the first report. Two more voices followed with similar answers.

"Very well, keep your eyes peeled." Micah shut the lens with a soft snap.

The stubby fingers were still foreign on his hand. He massaged the additional emerald-green band around his thumb, which he had put on only two days prior.

Layers of caution were needed to enter the Kobar Empire. Micah knew what this nation would become in just a few years' time, and what danger its unseen puppeteers might pose to Luca. He had disguised himself accordingly, given the risks his visit might invite.

A pair of workers carried a tarnished mirror past, and Micah's eyes caught sight of his warped reflection.

Micah was dressed as a run-of-the-mill merchant as part of his camouflage. However, instead of seeing his familiar face, a man of middling height and age stared back.

This was the work of the artifact that Micah pulled out of the black void—the green band currently around his thumb. The artifact's magic was subtle and flawless, rendering him into the form of an unassuming grey-haired man. But it was not without a rather painful cost. The change was semi-permanent and required actual reconfiguration of his face and body.

Upon putting on the emerald green ring, all his blonde hair fell out within a few short minutes. Then came the regrowth: coarse, ash-colored curls sprouted across his scalp. Most notably, his bones had cracked and reset under the artifact's hold, and his fair skin aged into a weathered leather that now coated his body.

Even with a potent potion to dull the pain, the transformation had been sweat-inducing agony. He had taken one pain-reducing vial. In retrospect, he should have taken three.

But the pain was a small price to pay, if it helps ensure Luca's safety.

"Selena?" His voice rasped again as he turned to the young woman who had opened the carriage for him.

"This way, sire." She gestured toward the far side of the bustling square.

Her black hair was pulled into a simple ponytail, her plain dress the picture of a modest handmaiden. To any outsider, she appeared to be nothing more than a mere servant, rather than one of the most lethal subordinates under Micah's command.

Selena's role in Lekar was to protect Micah against any immediate danger. His disguise ought to have been sufficient to deter anyone wishing harm to Micah Frey. Nor did he appear as anyone nearly important enough to attack in his current form. However, Micah was prepared to be unpleasantly surprised.

Lekar was writhing in opportunistic crime after all.

Centuries ago, Lekar's prestige had eclipsed any city on the continent. Its proud, towering structures—arches of granite, facades carved with meticulous artistry, church domes capped in bronze that still glimmered faintly in the morning sun—spoke of an empire that believed itself to be an eternal force to be reckoned with. However, the empire's successors squandered the fortunes they were left with and plunged the empire face-first into the mud.

The bones of that pride remained, built to withstand the test of time, but the grandeur of the city's structures only mocked what had become of them. Below, the streets stank of decay. Trash and human waste clogged the gutters. Flies swarmed. The air reeked of rot, cheap mid-altering herbs, and unwashed bodies.

As Micah moved across the center square, a woman with unkempt hair passed Micah, her grey eyes unnervingly wide, and a pipe in one hand, emitting a ghastly smell. She smiled, her teeth a mix of black and yellow, as she staggered across the street, her mind not in sync with her body.

Micah's mouth tightened.

Even most alleys of East Genise are better tended to than the center of Lekar.

Everywhere, the rot of corruption was visible. Peddlers hawked stolen or counterfeit heirlooms with desperate aggression. Guards loitered idly at corners, accepting bribes in plain sight. From lowly beggars to the highest of nobility, all were complicit, every hand willing to sell off their nation piece by piece for a price.

The Frey Merchant Guild had profited handsomely from it all. Especially in the last year, after the emperor's death. The man had never been praised for his wisdom; he had let his council govern while he drank and hunted until his untimely end. His son, not even of age, inherited the throne—and with it his father's arrogance, but not even half his limited sense.

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Now, the Regency Council ruled utterly unchecked, and priceless artifacts could be smuggled out of Lekar for a pittance, traded away by officials too greedy for coin to recognize the actual cost of their actions.

It was incredibly lucrative for those like Micah's family, but watching first-hand the once-proud empire eat itself alive and rot away was nauseating.

Micah pulled a peppermint-scented handkerchief against his nose as he stepped deeper into the filthy street.

And yet… despite all this, Kobar will rise. Within a few short years, this decayed empire will seize half the continent, Adovoria included. I could learn a thing or two from that meteoric rise.

Micah entered the dark alley, where more established peddlers called half-heartedly to passersby, hawking suspicious herbs and questionably obtained jewelry.

And there they were.

Two elderly figures sat at a rough wooden table with a sagging red cloth with painted white lettering: The Misfortune Sisters. Their gaze met his, and they smiled as he approached, as if they had been waiting for him all along.

He connected the description provided to him to their names. Hilga, tall and sharp-featured. Glenda, smaller, with a quiet, pitying look. Both had more wrinkles than the most ancient of trees had rings.

They did not rise when he arrived at the table. They only continued to watch him.

Micah motioned his hand, and Selena took a few steps back, giving him privacy to have his conversation with them, but still close enough that she could react promptly should any harm befall him.

After traveling halfway up the continent, disguising himself through great pain and forgoing other pressing matters, he wondered not for the first time if he was making the right decision coming here, or if he was playing right into someone else's scheme.

"Do you remember me?" he asked, his voice rough from his artifact's alterations.

"Of course," Hilga replied, her lips curling up. "You came by our table in Genise when you were just a boy."

"We never forget a client," Glenda added, her tone softer than her sister's. "Faces may change. Voices may crack. But misfortune? Misfortune lingers."

Micah drew a long breath.

Few available artifacts or spells could achieve the transformation that he had undergone to arrive in the empire unnoticed.

And yet, they saw right through my disguise immediately. Fine, so be it. There's no point beating around the bush.

"Back then, I heard the original misfortune regarding my brother going insane, but I never heard the second misfortune that would prevent it," Micah said evenly, not bothering with any other small talk. "It's still three phoenix eyes? Or has the price gone up?"

The women smiled in slow unison.

"The price is the same," Glenda murmured. She tilted her head, her grey eyes almost pitying. "But I'm afraid… it is too late."

Micah felt his stomach drop. "Too late?"

"Too much time has passed since your first visit," Hilga said. Her finger traced the air as if marking out a timeline only she could see. "Far more time than you imagine. The second misfortune… it would no longer be of help to you. Even knowing it, you cannot prevent what is already in motion."

Micah sighed.

He had suspected as much. But he had to hear it for himself.

There was no longer anything to be done to preserve Luca's sanity, as was Micah's intention till now. They were well past that now. Luca's spotty memory was evidence enough of that—a means to prevent him from going completely insane, a flawed solution in his opinion, though it could render him less predictable to his enemies.

"But," Hilga continued, her tone sharpening, "I can tell you of a new misfortune."

Micah's eyes narrowed. "What is it?"

However, the ancient woman merely smiled, and her sister spoke in her place.

"I'm afraid," Glenda said sweetly, "that only the first misfortune is free. New ones require payment upfront."

Micah arched a brow. "So six phoenix eyes, then?"

"Normally, yes." Glenda leaned toward Hilga, her lips moving in a whisper that Micah couldn't catch.

Hilga nodded and returned her attention to him. "But for you, it seems fate bargains differently. A one-for-two exchange. Only three phoenix eyes for the next misfortune."

"Why?" Micah inquired, suspicious of their generosity.

"Because," Hilga said smoothly, "you will stand at a crossroads. And at that crossroads, you will not escape choosing between two misfortunes."

"Mine," she said.

"Or mine," Glenda added.

"Very well." He reached into his coat and set three phoenix eyes on the table. "What is it?"

He didn't care for the veiled hints. Once he knew what the misfortune was, he'd know what to do.

The sisters moved in perfect unison. Hilga swept the gems into her sleeve, then leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper as she provided the first misfortune.

As Glenda's voice followed, the chill of the misfortunes bit deeper than the northern mountain winds.

***

"We're going home. Make the needed preparations," Micah ordered curtly as he climbed back inside the carriage.

He rubbed his temples, gaze sharp on the curtained window. His mind churned with thought.

"Master, did the conversation not go to your liking?" Selena asked as she sat down and secured the latch.

A humorless smirk tugged across his face. "No. It most certainly did not. I was given an impossible choice."

"Do you want us to… provide circumstances for a more favorable discussion?" She asked.

Micah shook his head. "No. You underestimate them. Those two are no ordinary women. They do not fear death; if anything, it is death that fears them."

From his coat, he drew a small scroll with a runic lock. With a flick, it unfurled, releasing a thick red notebook and a pen into his hand.

Micah saw the appeal of tattooing knowledge on one's body, as Claude had done, given that it could be done regardless of one's place and circumstances. However, he didn't care to have his body ridden with ink markings and knowledge that was certain to shift and become unreliable over an unknown number of future loops.

No, this was far better.

He opened the notebook, the pen gripped tightly in his right hand. His penmanship was steady, even though his mind was not quite at ease.

Unacceptable. I refuse to be cornered into such a choice.

He recorded the misfortunes word for word, sealing them for his future selves.

There must be a way that I can have it both ways. All the upside with none of the attached misfortune. A loophole. And if there isn't one, then I'll carve one.

He shut the notebook with a snap, the red cover gleaming in the dim light as the carriage lurched forward. He felt his confidence returning.

Yes, given how long the Game has gone on, there will be more than enough loops for me—at least a version of me—to find a solution.

He pulled back the curtain slightly, catching his reflection in the window: the face of a stranger staring back.

The inevitable thought pressed in, cold as the Kobar mountains outside:

And if I can't… if I really must choose… which will it be?

The man in the glass did not flinch, as if already resigned to become a monster, if that was what ambition required.