I pushed open the door of “Best Fabrics & Leather.” A bell chimed, and the shopkeeper—some skinny little guy with twitchy eyes—whipped around immediately. He looked me up and down with open disgust at my filthy, wet clothes.

  “Hey, vagrant!” he barked. “Out. Now. This place sells to noble gentlemen, not to—”

  I didn’t say a word. I slid a hand into my pocket, pulled out a gold coin, and flicked it neatly between my fingers.

  The flash of gold hit him like a paralysis spell. His eyes went wide, his back folded into a bow, and a syrupy smile bloomed across his face.

  “O-oh… my apologies, sir! The sun was in my eyes, I didn’t recognize you! G-good day, sir! What can I get you? Tea? Wine?”

  “Clothes,” I said flatly. “Unremarkable. Comfortable.”

  “Of course! And your specialty, sir?”

  “Universal.”

  He froze for a second, trying to figure out what that meant, but he wasn’t about to argue with a gold coin.

  “One moment, sir.”

  He dove into the shelves and came back with a long black cloak made of heavy wool.

  “Here—look! ‘Night’s Shadow.’ A classic black cloak with a deep hood. Mysterious, elegant—”

  “Yeah,” I frowned. “It’s long. It’ll drag on the ground, collect every bit of mud, tangle my legs. No.”

  I walked along the racks myself, ignoring his velvet doublets. My eyes caught something hanging in the corner—something weird.

  “Oh. What’s that?” I pointed.

  The shopkeeper grimaced. “Ah… sir, don’t mind that. Failed batch. The master tried to experiment. It’s… kind of a jacket, but soft leather and thick fabric, with a hood sewn on permanently. No buttons, no clasp—just a lace at the throat. Nobody likes it. They call it a ‘sack.’”

  I took it off the hanger.

  That was it.

  Dark gray, almost black—thick cloth like rough felt, with leather patches on the shoulders. Big, comfortable hood. A large pass-through front pocket for hands.

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  A medieval hoodie.

  “I’ll take it,” I said. “Perfect.”

  “Seriously?” the shopkeeper blinked. “Well… customer’s king. Pants?”

  “Yeah. Practical. Something that won’t tear in brush. And boots. Hard ones, thick sole. I walk through mud a lot.”

  Ten minutes later I was staring into a mirror.

  Rugged black trousers of coarse fabric with pockets all over the thighs, tucked into heavy high boots with iron toes and spiked soles. On top—the weird hooded jacket-sack. The hood shaded the upper half of my face, hiding my black eyes in shadow.

  I didn’t look like a local. Not a knight, not a mage.

  I looked like a hired killer or a special forces guy who fell into the past.

  “How much?” I asked.

  “Uh… for everything… three silver, sir. The pieces are… ahem… specific.”

  I tossed him a gold coin.

  “No change.”

  Then I paused. “Actually—no. Give me change. I still need to eat.”

  He counted out a whole mountain of silver—forty-seven coins. I stuffed them into my new pockets, pulled up the hood, and stepped outside.

  Now I was ready.

  https://ibb.co.com/Jj80g8nb

  I walked down the street with my hands in my new jacket pocket. The hood hid my face perfectly—but hiding thoughts was harder.

  What now?

  My memory was a void. A black hole.

  But one blurry fragment surfaced: the kid from the village where I woke up. He’d muttered something…

  “You were a mage… white hair, sky-blue eyes…”

  “White and blue?” I whispered, catching my reflection in a shop window. Darkness stared back at me. “Sure.”

  I went back to the tavern. It was quiet—morning, normal people were working. I walked up to the bartender and dropped a silver coin on the counter.

  “Hey,” I asked, forcing my voice to sound indifferent. “You ever hear about a mage with white hair and blue eyes? Supposedly lived in one of the villages around here.”

  The bartender stopped wiping the glass and looked at me with respect—like I’d asked about a local saint.

  “Who hasn’t?” he sighed. “But nobody knows his name or where he came from. He was a great man. A few years ago, when the city got hit by the Black Plague, people were dying in the streets…”

  “He cured everyone. Just walked around healing with a touch.”

  “Huh,” I said. “And?”

  “That’s it.” The bartender spread his hands. “Disappeared as suddenly as he showed up.”

  Outside, I nearly collided head-on with yesterday’s party—Green Phoenix. They looked wrecked—like they’d celebrated until sunrise on my money.

  “Oh, Greg!” the leader brightened, squinting into the sun.

  “I’ve got a question,” I cut in before he could start the friendship speech. “You heard about a healer with white hair and blue eyes? People say he lived nearby.”

  They exchanged looks like I’d asked whether the earth was round.

  “What, did you fall off the moon?” the archer girl said, pressing a palm to her forehead. “Of course. During the plague he didn’t just heal people. They say he enchanted the river upstream. Drink from it—disease backed off.”

  “Yeah,” the leader nodded. “Mysterious guy. Nobody’s seen him for years. Rumor says he came from the Capital. But it’s just rumors—old men talking.”

  “The Capital…” I repeated.

  The puzzle started clicking together.

  If I was him, then I’d been a damn good person.

  And apparently I’d come from the center of this world.

  I adjusted my hood and looked toward the road leading to the main gates.

  “Then my path leads to the Capital.”