Right after he tried to burn me alive with that flaming spoon, the guy decides it’s bath time.

Fair enough, I thought. After nearly melting from the inside, a splash of cool water sounded like a decent reward. How bad could it be?

Oh, sweet, naive me.

The washroom was basic—just a few wooden buckets scattered around, some small, one huge. He went straight for the big one. But something in the air bothered me.

A weird smell.

And the closer we got, the stronger it became.

No… this can’t be…

“Son!” he boomed, arms raised like he was summoning the heavens. Is he trying to be Jardini now? “Your Rite of Manhood begins today! You shall be bathed in these sacred waters, which—as I always say—are the divine meads left by the gods themselves!”

No, dude. That’s beer. Bad beer.

And isn’t this speech a bit… premature?

Without warning, he dunked me in the bucket—filled to the brim with that fermented brew.

I wish I were joking.

Lye always told me to stop bathing in beer. I thought it was a metaphor.

Yeah, right.

At least my boiling-over body didn’t spontaneously combust from the alcohol.

By the time we were about to leave the washroom, he stared at me with a face like he’d sniffed a dead goblin.

“You smell atrocious, Hatrellon. Spent the night out, did you?”

Really? Want to guess who soaked me in rancid ale at seven in the morning?

Thankfully, he relented and gave me a proper scrub. Finally, a hint of humanity.

Next, we went to another room with a double bed and some clothes. He dressed me in plain yellow pants, a long-sleeve gray shirt… and a frog hat.

Yeah. A frog hat.

In the corner, I spotted neatly folded women’s garments—perfumed—and a luxurious white helmet.

Don’t know why that caught my eye. Maybe I can’t picture this guy having a wife… or maybe that little corner seemed like a rare peaceful spot amid the chaos.

“Hey! Those aren’t for you, son.” He emphasized “son” like it mattered.

Well… I hope they aren’t for you either.

Seriously, please, let them not be.

I don’t want my dad turning into Karu 2.0.

Ugh…

Then he scooped me up again. “Want to see how you look, son?” he asked, leading me to a large mirror propped against the wall.

Idiot… stop pretending.

I’m not your… son…

The reflection staring back wasn’t my usual self—brown skin, black eyes, and spiky hair that Lye teased looked like a porcupine’s quills.

The baby in the mirror was pale, with light hair (just like his, of course) and dark eyes that shimmered with a strange purple glow.

This body… isn’t mine.

At least, it shouldn’t be.

Somebody please explain what the hell is going on.