Rumors were spreading.

While StoneHaven stood at the brink of abandonment, stories circulated of a mysterious figure: a man with jet-black hair, always dressed in black, face hidden by a red mask.

Very subtle. Truly the pinnacle of blending in.

He searched house to house for the dirty, white-haired man with vivid red streaks, the most notorious figure in all the land. Because apparently knocking politely was overrated.

Suspicious houses were painted in blood with notes accusing the residents of harboring the fugitive. The innocent were left with flowers and butterflies.

It started subtly on the first day. By the second, rumors spread. By the fifth day, the red-masked man was hailed as the land's savior, anyone killed by his hand must have been a curse.

Public opinion changes faster than the weather, apparently.

When Halo first caught wind of this, he couldn't help but take notice. But as it escalated, certainty grew. This was Kahn, one of this land's guards. Because who ELSE would go full dramatic-serial-killer mixed with part-time gardener? Too impatient.

He didn't know whether to feel relieved or worried. Either way, his theory was right: Kahn's impatience had won out.

He just needed to wait for him to play into his hands.

While he waited, his thoughts drifted elsewhere. Light could now reach him mentally, an ability Halo appreciated. Though they'd barely communicated, he couldn't stop thinking about it.

His cloning ability worked by stealing pieces of himself. A fragment of his essence merged with the summoned fallen's to create each clone. Now that Light had gained speech, what had Halo lost in exchange?

Light was formed from his essence alone, with no other being involved. Was that initial fragment all it would cost? Or would pieces of him keep disappearing as Light evolved?

Imagine losing your sense of smell next. That would be tragic. He'd already lost his taste.

This made him restless, mostly uneasy.

He couldn't afford to lose his humanity this early into his journey. It was already on sale, he didn't need further discounts.

***

The sun beat down with merciless intensity, cracking the earth below. Shadow of Death's body was soaked in sweat that felt like his flesh was melting off.

He sat cross-legged on the burning floor, nearly finished with his ten-hour meditation. His body had recovered and the wound was fully healed, every dislocated joint back in place.

Just as he was about to emerge from his meditation, a voice echoed in his mind:

"Don't you think it might be better to train in the forest? You know… the way you used to?"

Halo opened his eyes to see Light lounging on his bed. He stretched lazily, rose to his feet, and opened the window. The wind sent a shiver through him, drying the sweat instantly.

"What makes you think that?"

Halo asked, still taking in the warmth in the air.

"Those were better days. You didn't care about comradeship or whether you came back alive, you just got the job done. That was Halo. But now? I don't even know who I'm looking at."

Halo frowned. Fantastic. Even his clone was entering his rebellious teenage phase.

"And that's what's been hurting you? All this time? Is that why you've been angry with me?"

Though featureless, Light's frustration was painfully evident.

"What do you think?"

It all made sense now. When he created Light, what emerged was a version of himself from his past life. He'd been mulling this over for some time. Nothing like being lectured by your own personality's older, angrier model.

Now that Light could communicate, what would the cost be? But there was no cost. Light was becoming what Halo had been in his past life.

"This isn't our world. Magic, gods, monsters… they're real. And I'm certain there are creatures we haven't encountered or even known about yet."

The words left him calmly. He intended to speak with care.

"Back then, a gun solved most of my problems. Seventy percent, at least. But now? There are people I can't take on by myself… and codes I'm simply not smart enough to decipher."

Relatable.

He turned to Light, whose white eyes pierced intensely at him.

"You know better than anyone—there are people far more unhinged than I ever was. Mika alone was a complete psycho. And now the witches… even Kahn. Who knows how many worse ones exist?"

He exhaled.

"My old life was precious to me. It made me who I am and helped me survive. But there are times when one way of doing things simply isn't enough."

Light's eyes squinted.

"Don't fool yourself. Iris has betrayed you twice. The Halo I knew? He would have killed her the first time, and he wouldn't have endured Mika's torture. You were a professional assassin at twelve, remember that."

The irritation in his voice was palpable. Honestly, Halo wanted to make Iris pay, but he couldn't sustain the anger. His Flaw rendered him too apathetic, it was exhausting.

Imagine being too bored to stay mad. That's a new level of tired.

Light's anger made sense. He was the person Halo used to be, inhuman and unfeeling. But their desires could never align, even if they wanted them to.

"The person I used to be would have been dead at the hands of the Chaos Eaters by now. My brute strength and simple tricks wouldn't have been enough."

Light scoffed.

"The old you wouldn't have spared a single guard. You'd have a thousand clones by now. The Chaos Eaters would already be dust under your boots. Tell me… how could you forget what you truly are?"

The moment the last word formed, he rose to his feet and left the room.

Halo sighed in disappointment.

He'd just been scolded by his own personality. Again.

It would hurt to have a new version of yourself take a completely different path, as though you were being forgotten. Light had every right to speak his mind.

But Halo hadn't truly changed. Only his circumstances had. If Light could set aside his bias for a moment, he'd see that Halo was simply adapting to this world. Survival had always been his priority, and that hadn't changed.

He'd understand with time.

Halo stretched his body once more, the cracks coming in repetitive and aggressive succession, as if he were a monk who hadn't stood in centuries.

Kahn would be knocking on their door sooner or later. He needed to be ready when that time came.

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