We walked through the streets of Gonhe, with watermelon juice still dripping from my stupid frog beanie and sliding down the back of my neck. The sweet, fermented smell had already overstayed its welcome in my nose. Worst part? I was attracting flies. And stares.

“You look awful,” Marty said, balancing a freshly bought loaf of bread like someone pretending not to know me.

“It was this or something worse,” I muttered, still feeling watched. I turned my head and spotted a few kids at a distance, staring at me. Most of them had... odd expressions. Not just curiosity. Focused. Intent.

“There are kids staring at me.”

“Well, it’s obvious why, isn’t it?” Marty glanced slightly at my head.

“I feel like it’s more than that…”

“The mighty son of Sir Tarmellon, scared of children?” He nearly laughed. Nearly.

“Don’t twist it. It’s just an observation. And stop calling him ‘mighty’. Makes him sound important.”

Marty paused for a second, like something had just clicked, but kept walking.

It was subtle. But it bothered me.

“What?” I asked. “Don’t tell me the ‘Sir’ is legit.”

“Just a habit,” he said, eyes elsewhere.

“So what is he, then? A noble? Some exiled king?” I asked more for the joke than out of real curiosity.

“Noble? You really think he’d be a noble? That’s almost offensive.”

“You never know,” I muttered, crossing my arms.

We kept walking. The sun was bleeding out through the gaps between rooftops. Gonhe was bathed in rust and dust at twilight.

Soon, we reached a modest inn — dark wood, dusty windows, and a crooked sign with a half-faded name. Classic. Marty walked in and asked for one room, which made me raise an eyebrow.

“One room?”

“It has a big bed,” he answered flatly. “And it was cheaper.”

I sighed.

The room looked exactly like it cost “less”: small, one bed, an empty trunk, and a window that opened to an alleyway. At least it didn’t smell like mold. Just cheap disinfectant.

We sat down and ate the bread Marty had brought. I wasn’t hungry, but chewing helped keep my mind quiet. He talked a bit about the capital.

“You’ll like it there. Way different than this place. Big buildings, guards everywhere, and sometimes good food — if you know where to look.”

That’s when it hit me. Something so basic it was stupid.

“Wait... where are we again?”

Marty looked at me, puzzled. “You didn’t know? Crunlish. Kingdom of Ivylin.”

…

Ivylin.

That name.

I closed my eyes and almost heard echoes: patriotic speeches, flags waving with that ridiculous silver tree, ceremonial nonsense, and a royal family drunk on their own ego.

Ivylin. The name of the dynasty, the capital, and — why not? — the entire kingdom. Creativity had clearly died around here. Probably from boredom.

“Of course… Ivylin,” I murmured with a dry chuckle. “Always so original.”

“You’ve heard of it before?”

“Yeah. Not exactly unforgettable — despite their obsession with their own name.”

Marty didn’t reply. Maybe he thought I was just being cynical out of habit.

Maybe I was.

But hearing that name again stirred something in me. A familiar discomfort. Blurred memories, but still bitter.

Ivylin…

As if the world was laughing in my face. Dropping me right back where I didn’t want to be.

After eating, Marty collapsed onto the bed without ceremony. Tired — or just good at pretending. I stayed seated for a while, feeling the weight of the night settle through the open window.

Outside, Gonhe had changed. The yelling of merchants and chatter from the square had dissolved into patchy silence, broken only by hurried steps, distant voices, and the sharp whistle of wind cutting through buildings.

I adjusted my still-damp frog beanie and stood up, walking to the window.

From the second floor, I couldn’t see much — just uneven rooftops, poorly laid cobblestones, and a fire burning at the nearest crossroads. There was a figure there. Alone.

Unmoving.

For a second, I thought they were staring at me.

I blinked.

Gone.

I leaned my forehead against the wooden frame, trying to shake the feeling. The truth was simple: Ivylin made me uneasy. Maybe because of everything that had happened here before… or everything that was still waiting.

That name always had a talent for hiding secrets behind polished façades.

I sighed.

Still, something felt off. Not about the city. About me. About the direction. About how I’d forgotten where I was until now. How I didn’t connect the names earlier.

Like my mind was trying to shield me from something I wasn’t ready to remember.

I closed the window and slipped into bed beside Marty, who was snoring like someone who’d never killed anyone — which was starting to seem less and less likely.

And as the room went dark, one question echoed in my head:

Why, out of all places… did I have to be reborn in Ivylin?

I had no idea how close the answer actually was.