Snow danced around him as Gaius’ vision cleared. Judging from the height of his eyes, Gaius was in his original body, which could only mean that he was reliving yet another memory.

“These events are getting less and less frequent,” murmured Gaius, who immediately froze up when he realised what he had just done.

He’d spoken in a memory.

A second later, he realised that he was able to move as he desired in this memory of his, and the boy immediately reached for his pockets, where something relevant to his identity on Earth might be in them. To his disappointment, his pockets were apparently sewn tight, and as the nail in the identity-seeking coffin, there was clearly nothing in them.

What’s the point of sewing the pockets shut then, Gaius complained in his mind. After moping over the odd state of affairs, the boy began to explore the snowy garden he currently was in. The winter had taken a toll on the greenery, which meant that there wasn’t really much to admire about the plants here.

The boy couldn’t help but examine his hands as he walked towards the statue in the centre. His ring finger on his left hand was missing, and the skin of his hands were scorched and crisscrossed with old scars. The skin on his right hand, between the thumb and the index finger, was callused and bruised, and Gaius winced as he touched it gingerly.

He stopped at the statue and looked at it.

Age and weather had done a number on the surface and details of the stone man who stood on the pedestal, but Gaius could tell that it was sculpted based on a young man at the prime of life. His eyes dipped down to the hands of the statue, where three scars crossed each other on the back of its hands.

Gaius looked at his own hands, and saw the shadows of such scars on them. Is this…me?

His body seized up as the thought flashed through his head, and as the body he was in turned to look at the garden gate, Gaius realised that he had lost control over his body again.

“You come at last.” A soft voice, gentle on the ears, sounded from Gaius’ lips. “I was waiting for you the whole time.”

Someone had entered the garden gate, but Gaius couldn’t see who that person was. Snow had descended upon the garden with an excited gait, shrouding the two speakers and leaving them as shadows. His hands trembled…or rather, the him in this memory was trembling.

“I don’t know what to think, teacher,” said the figure. “Please. Help me. I’m scared of what comes next. I cannot bear to look at them anymore.”

“So,” replied the memory-Gaius, “you still think of yourself as an assassin then. Not as a butcher. Not as a wanton killer. Then you should know what options are laid out for you.”

“I—” The figure shuddered.

“Very well. Let this be your teacher’s final gift.” Memory-Gaius sighed, and walked towards the figure. “I am old, after all. And the failings of the student are that of the teacher’s.”

He pushed the figure aside gently, and left the garden.

With that, the world of memory cracked, revealing the wooden walls of the Library of Ancients once again. Unlike the previous time, however, the chair he was on wasn’t drenched in sweat, and a feeling of peace enveloped the boy’s mind as he relaxed.

“Master Gaius?”

“A memory just returned to me,” said the boy. He raised his hand, and was struck by its smooth skin. “It was one about life in my later years, I think. A student came up to me for help, and I gave it.”

“That sounds like a pleasant memory,” replied Nexus.

“It would,” said Gaius, “if it didn’t sound that ominous. Was I that melodramatic on Earth? Sure, it’s subtle, but…forget it. I guess old men have a tendency to do just that, after all.”

“I’m not sure what to make of you dissing your past self, but it’s good comedy regardless.” The sculpture walked over cautiously, as though as it wanted to check that Gaius was really himself, and then said, “Let’s put that aside for a while.”

“Oh? Did something happen?”

“Something interesting is happening right now, rather.” The sculpture climbed onto the boy’s shoulders. “The Map of Stars awaits, Master Gaius.”

Gaius pulled himself up, wincing the entire time, and hobbled over into the interior of the Library. It took far longer than he would have liked to reach the artefact, and by the time he got there, Nexus’ other sculptures were already looking at a large screen of what appeared to be a battlefield.

“I know you’re not used to it,” said Nexus, “but you would have reached the Map a lot faster if you used Flight, no? Or your Blink? Are you somehow averse to the idea of flying or teleporting within a building?”

“Now that I think about it…” The boy rubbed his nose, before floating off the ground. “Maybe it’s the feeling that I shouldn’t use them when I can, to conserve energy.”

“These aren’t artefacts, and abilities appended to Engines cost far less than their corresponding sigils,” said the artificial intelligence. “Did no one teach you that?”

Gaius floated towards the Map of Stars. “There are actually sigils for teleportation?”

“What else did you think House Varitas was testing for? Not everyone is like you, who absorbs Engines like sponges. Those so-called abilities that the others exhibited were sigils carved into flesh,” said Nexus. “It’s just that knowledge of carving sigils into one’s flesh is not something any government of the Five Lands wants to spread to the common folk. Imagine a thief or a killer with a teleportation sigil — that’s nothing short of a nightmare.”

“You learn something new everyday, I guess.” Gaius landed on the ground, and grimaced from the impact. “What’s so interesting about this that you have to drag a child who’s in pain over?”

“Remember that beastfolk army I told you about earlier?”

“Uh huh.”

“They’re fighting against a regular army from one of the Houses now. And they’re winning.”

“They’re winning,” Gaius replied blankly. “They’re winning?”

“Yes, Master Gaius,” said the artificial intelligence. “Remember that airborne company I was talking about? They’re proving to be a real asset. Now, if you look at this screen here…”

Gaius peered at the screen, and his eyes lit up. “They’re acting as the hammer to the infantry’s anvil. And it’s a rather deadly one at that.”

“Sound strategy. The Northern military did use something like this too, but making use of the ability to fly to cut off retreating and routed troops is an inspired strategy.”

“The Incheon landings on Earth would be the closest parallel to this, I think,” said Gaius. “But this…huh. Odd.”

“Odd?”

Gaius peered at the screen. “What’s these two jokers doing here?”