Leonardo stood up slowly, feeling the pull of exhaustion in every muscle as the long, damp white sleeve finally broke off, its fabric sagging limply in his grasp. He stared at the cracked mirror in front of him, its jagged lines reflecting a distorted image of himself back.

  The mirror was a mess, much like his mind, fractured and sharp-edged. "I just lied, but it was to save my life," he muttered under his breath, the words a feeble attempt to justify his actions.

  He began picking up the scattered items that had fallen from the mirror during the tense "conversation" with Adalaide—pills, rolls worth, parchment, unfamiliar names scrawled on all most object, scraps of paper, and the church title still visible unimportant now, just remnants.

  He moved to gather the toiletries, some scattered across the sink, collecting them slowly as if savoring each second of relative calm.

  His thoughts were still racing, replaying the lies he had told, the quick thinking that had kept him alive, at least for now. "Was that a good idea?" he asked himself, glancing at the disheveled room as he bent down to pick up his trousers and underwear.

  He dressed with deliberate care, sliding his feet into the trousers, then pulling them up over his legs. His shoes lay nearby, scuffed and slightly worn. As he straightened, he chuckled humorlessly.

  "She'll kill me if she finds out. I guess I just added a few more hours to my lifespan," he said with a grim smile, strapping on his sword, which he had left discarded on the floor. He pulled it out, inspecting the blade.

  "At least I didn't use this," he murmured, opening it "its blunt" , a weapon that would do little more than bruise at this point, better than actually piercing someone.

  Leonardo paused for a moment, considering his next move. "Text, do you know anything about the tower's creation?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

  The notion that Sage Rolhim had created the tower seemed too vague and simplistic, a story full of holes that didn't sit right with him.

  He waited for a response, the brief flicker of hope in his eyes dying as the answer came back short and unhelpful: [no]. He sighed, his shoulders slumping.

  He had just gotten out of a shower that was more for show than anything else, and he was already ruffled up again

  . His gaze fell back on the glowing disc, a tool of torture that had masqueraded as a shower, making him shiver at the thought of going through it once more. Fake showering at best, he thought bitterly.

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  "Maybe that would do, if I ever want to bathe again," he muttered, his eyes drifting towards the bathtub at the far end of the room. It had a tap, new but slightly tarnished, likely used for filling the tub with water.

  Not now, maybe later, he told himself, pulling the sleeve up over his right arm and then the other over his left, beginning to button up his shirt as water continued to drip from his hair and onto his clothes.

  "Maybe I do need to go to the Grand Bibliotheca, or train to know the limits of the skill," he mused aloud, his thoughts bouncing between what he knew and the gaps in his understanding.

  He paused for a moment, lost in thought. "I'll have to write it down. I can't forget it. It will be useful on how to act later on," he decided, holding his chin thoughtfully. The heat from the slap still lingered on his cheek.

  "I guess I know where Elara got her chin-hitting skills from," he chuckled, the sting of Adalaide's slap still fresh, his cheek marked with a faint score.

  Leonardo picked up his red vest, buttoning it up methodically. He caught his reflection again, briefly studying the figure in the mirror.

  "I don't like being 'short'," he muttered, his eyes narrowing in frustration before he turned towards the door in a swift motion, closing it quietly behind him. The click of the latch echoed in the empty space, a small but significant sound.

  "I've passed through a lot of doors today. I hate it," he grumbled, glancing towards the stairs where Adalaide had gone.

  "Adalaide, that must be her name. I told her that her husband died. I wonder what pain she's feeling," he said to himself, his footsteps heavy as he moved back towards the door he had originally entered through.

  The heat still permeated from the door, a reminder of the intense exchange that had taken place mere minutes ago.

  "I told her three people died," Leonardo continued, his grip tightening on the door handle. It was still fresh in his mind—the way her tears had begun to build up, the light that had started to return to her eyes, only to be shattered by his lies.

  "She really loves that man," he said softly, turning his back to the door and heading towards the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last.

  "My name won't be on the moon at this rate. Not that moon, it's too small," he mumbled, a sardonic smile flickering on his lips.

  He recalled a phrase a man had told him three years ago, a piece of advice that had clung to him like a stubborn shadow.

  I'm still holding onto that phrase, like it's a lifeline. I'm pathetic. Really pathetic, he thought, shaking his head as he moves towards the stairs.

  Leonardo's mind wandered back to the confrontation, to the raw intensity of Adalaide's grief.

  It was a pain he knew well, one that echoed in his own heart even if he didn't admit it aloud.

  He was no stranger to loss, but seeing it in others was like looking into a mirror—one more broken than the one in that bathroom.

  He reached the base of the stairs, pausing to catch his breath. His thoughts were still racing, each one louder than the last.

  Leonardo turned his gaze towards the hallway ahead, the path stretching out like a challenge.

  He straightened his vest, his resolve hardening as he took the first step forward. "There's no going back now," he muttered, the weight of his choices pressing down on him like a heavy cloak.

  Each step was a reminder of the cost of survival, a price he was willing to pay for just a few more hours.

  "better than nothing."