Author's notes: Hey everyone, it's me again, and cinema is back on the menu!
This is the last "transitionary" chapter before things get serious since the next ones will dive into Monsterphilia.
I cut some corners in this chapter (like skipping Al's proper introduction to the Hostess), but don't worry—I plan on writing more character interactions later on.
With that said, enjoy the chapter, and don't forget to leave your thoughts in the review section.
"Speech."
"Thoughts"
It had been two days since Bell and Al apologized to Mia and Syr—two days since Al was officially recognized as a wanted criminal and labeled a potential terrorist by the Guild.
You'd think those two days were uneventful. You'd be wrong.
For starters, the book Syr gifted to Bell turned out to be a grimoire—a magic item capable of unlocking one's latent magical potential. A treasure so rare and valuable that its price could easily surpass 100 million valis.
While Lady Hestia insisted on keeping the matter under wraps, Bell's "hero's heart" had other plans. His insistence on coming clean led both him and Al back to the Hostess of Fertility for yet another apology.
This time, however, Mia's sharp declaration—"It's the fault of whoever lost the damn thing, not yours"—and her deadly glare were enough to stop Bell's relentless pestering.
As if that wasn't enough, Bell's newfound magical prowess prompted Hestia to place him under strict surveillance for fear he might dive into the Dungeon to test his new abilities. The surveillance measures included tying him to a chair and, allegedly, a very complicated knot system.
Meanwhile, Al had started working the night shift at the Hostess of Fertility. The staff had been skeptical about letting a "creepy stranger" work alongside them, but Mia's glare worked wonders in clearing up any lingering doubts.
"Is there anything that woman's glare can't fix?!" Al often wondered.
Introductions were brief, and Al was thrown straight into the chaos. Drowning in an endless sea of dirty plates, he was tasked with cleaning them all, each night—mostly on his own, though Ryuu, the elven waitress, would occasionally lend a hand.
Ryuu was the only one allowed near the dishes. Despite most of the other staff members being ex-high-level adventurers, they were notoriously clumsy, and Mia had banned them from the dishwashing area after one too many broken plates.
At first, Al noticed how most of the Hostess staff avoided him, keeping interactions to a bare minimum. They didn't treat him poorly per se, but there was a clear reluctance to engage with him. Ryuu, however, was different. While she didn't offer warmth or friendliness, when spoken to, she responded with respect and courtesy, and he couldn't help but appreciate it.
But those chaotic two days had finally passed. Both Al and Bell had recovered from their ordeals, and the house arrest imposed by Lady Hestia was lifted at last. Now, the two young men wandered the corridors of the Dungeo—
"Firebolt!"
A fiery explosion erupted in the narrow hallway, the spell blazing through the air and slamming into a pack of unsuspecting goblins.
The sheer force of the magic tore through the monsters, scattering embers and charred remains across the stone floor.
"Did you see that, Al?!" Bell exclaimed, his eyes shining with excitement as sparks of residual magic flickered at his fingertips.
"Yes, yes, Bell. I saw it," Al replied with a sigh, shaking his head but unable to suppress a small smile.
Having spent the past two days resting, the pair had decided to take their first day of Dungeon diving easy. They stuck to the upper floors, their goal simple: test their respective magic and get a feel for how it worked in actual combat.
The faint growls of monsters echoed through the corridors as the pair ventured deeper into the labyrinth. It wasn't long before a lone kobold appeared, its red eyes glowing menacingly as it snarled at the intruders.
Al stepped forward. "Leave this one to me, Bell!"
Bell nodded enthusiastically. "Yes!"
Al took a steady breath, focusing on the creature in front of him. "Visualize the target. Imagine your magic flowing to your hands. Now, the target is falling asleep—"
The kobold lunged, its claws outstretched.
"Aspect of Slumber: Hypnos."
A wave of energy pulsed through Al's palm, and the kobold froze mid-lunge. Its snarls softened into an almost pitiful whimper before it collapsed to the ground, now embracing the warm pull of sleep.
A triumphant grin spread across his face as he turned to Bell. "Hey, what do you think—"
"Firebolt!"
The sleeping kobold burst into flames, Bell's spell striking it square in the back before Al could finish his sentence.
"Oi!" Al shouted in exasperation as the charred remains of the kobold crumbled to the ground.
Bell turned around, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry, you were saying, Al?"
Al sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's nothing..."
The pair continued their dive through the upper floors, following a routine that had quickly established itself: Al would knock out monsters with his sleep-inducing magic, and Bell would finish them off with a fiery explosion of Firebolt.
The two made decent progress, their magic becoming smoother with each encounter. This rhythm carried them all the way to the fourth floor.
Al came to a stop, leaning against a wall as he caught his breath. "Alright, Bell, let's stop here and head back."
Bell blinked, tilting his head in confusion. "Wait, why? We've still got plenty of time."
Al shook his head, gesturing to his slightly trembling hands. "We've already used quite a bit of magic, and if we don't"—he stifled a yawn—"stop soon, we'll risk Mind Down. Plus, our gear's still trashed from that. Diving deeper would be dangerous."
Bell frowned, concern flickering across his face. "I… I see. But what's Mind Down?"
Al straightened up, crossing his arms. "It's mental exhaustion. If you keep using magic without resting or taking mind potions, your mind burns out. Push past that, and you hit Mind Zero—basically, you'll knock yourself out cold. Not fun."
Bell's eyes widened in realization. "So that's why you've been yawning this whole time…"
Al waved dismissively. "Nah, that's just the drawback of my magic. Apparently curses always come with a price. In my case, the more I use it, the more I get—" He yawned loudly, cutting himself off. "—Sleepy."
Bell nodded slowly. "I see… Oh! About our gear…"
Al raised an eyebrow. "What about it?"
Bell's cheeks flushed pink as he fidgeted with his fingers. "Miss Eina invited me to Babel tomorrow to help me get some new gear, but… I'm sure if I talk to her, you could come along too—"
Al raised a hand, cutting him off. "No need. I've got something to do tomorrow anyway."
In truth, Al had nothing planned. But if Eina had invited Bell for gear shopping without mentioning him—despite being Al's Dungeon advisor too—there had to be a reason. Maybe it was something personal, and he didn't want to intrude. Still, the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
But before Bell could respond, a sudden growl echoed from behind.
Al and Bell turned as a single goblin scrambled out from a side passage, its red eyes gleaming with hunger. It lunged forward, claws raised—too close for comfort.
Bell reacted on instinct, raising his arm. "Firebol—"
The goblin slammed into him mid-chant.
The incomplete spell imploded.
BOOM!
Flames erupted around Bell's arm in a violent backlash, swallowing his sleeve in fire.
"AAAAAH! AL, I'M ON FIRE!"
"WHAT THE HELL, BELL?!"
Bell flailed wildly, trying to pat out the flames before they spread. Al, equally frantic, grabbed his canteen and dumped its contents over Bell—only for a single drop of water to fall out.
"WHY DON'T YOU HAVE WATER?!" Bell shrieked.
"WHY DID YOU SET YOURSELF ON FIRE?!" Al shot back.
The goblin, momentarily stunned by the explosion, shook its head, refocused, and lunged again—only for Bell, in his wild thrashing, to accidentally kick it square in the face. The creature let out a strangled squeak before crumpling to the floor, unmoving.
Bell kept thrashing for another second before realizing—
The fire was out.
He froze, panting, his hair frizzed from the heat.
Silence.
Al blinked. Then, he laughed. Then, he howled, doubling over with tears in his eyes. "Hahahahahahahah!"
Bell, still slightly charred, flushed a deep red. "I-it's not funny!" he stammered, fumbling with his words as he tried to brush it off.
"Oh, it's hilarious!" Al gasped between laughs. "You didn't even need me. You literally beat that thing by setting yourself on fire and panicking!"
Bell groaned. "L-Let's just go home…"
Al wiped his eyes, still grinning. "Right, right… But seriously, enjoy your date tomorrow."
Bell stiffened. "It's—it's not a date!" he stammered, waving his hands in protest.
Al smirked. "Whatever you say, burning casanova."
And with that, the two made their way out of the Dungeon—one slightly scorched, the other still laughing.
D/D
The next day, Al found himself aimlessly walking through the streets of Orario. Bell as expected was off enjoying his date with that Guild receptionist— "Lucky him," Al muttered, kicking a stray pebble along the road.
And with Lady Hestia gone to a gods' banquet and no word on her return, Al had no plans and nowhere to be. He passed the bustling stalls and towering buildings, his mind drifting as he wondered what he could do to kill time.
"Go to the Dungeon?" The thought crossed his mind more than once. But without Bell and proper gear, it felt more like an unnecessary risk than a good idea. "Yeah, no thanks," he muttered, shaking his head.
"Replace my gear, maybe?" That idea seemed more practical, though it came with its own set of problems. Most of the smithing shops were in Babel, and setting foot there was out of the question.
Al knew that tower well—he'd spent hours wandering its halls when no one would guide him to Dian Cecht's clinic during his first chaotic days in Orario. But now, it wasn't just bad memories keeping him away. With the Guild still treating him like a wanted man, stepping into Babel was practically asking to be caught.
He tugged his hood lower, scowling. "Yeah, no. Not happening."
Which left… "the Hostess of Fertility." The thought made him sigh, but it was a logical choice. Covering his debt quicker wasn't a bad plan, and the staff there could always use extra hands during the busy hours. At the very least, it would keep him busy.
"Guess that's settled," Al murmured, turning toward the familiar path to the Hostess. He weaved through the streets, the noise of Orario buzzing around him like a living entity.
But just as Al was only a few blocks away from the lively tavern, movement in the corner of his eye brought him to a halt.
Three men dragging a small girl into a nearby alley.
Al froze mid-step, his instincts screaming at him to turn around and mind his own business.
"This isn't my problem," he thought, his jaw tightening. "I'm not some righteous hero out to save the day."
But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, the idea of walking away gnawed at him.
"If something happens to that kid… could I really live with myself?"
He clenched his fists, frustration bubbling up. He wasn't the type to get involved in other people's problems—he never had been. Survival came first, and sticking his neck out for strangers was a quick way to get it cut.
And yet, here he was, hesitating.
"Dammit," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I swear, stupid Bell's been rubbing off on me."
That naive idiot would've jumped in without a second thought. Maybe spending so much time around him was starting to mess with his own instincts.
Letting out a long sigh, he turned toward the alley. "Guess I'm doing this."
His feet carried him forward before he could second-guess himself. As he neared the alley's entrance, the scene came into sharper focus.
The girl was a Pallum—a member of the diminutive race often underestimated due to their small size. She looked terrified, her small frame trembling as the men rifled through her belongings, their laughter echoing.
Al's eyes narrowed. "Three of them… and just one me. Great odds." His gaze flicked to the girl, noting her frightened and helpless expression. "She's not going to be of any help if shit goes south."
He exhaled slowly, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. "What the hell am I even supposed to do here?" His eyes darted around the alley, analyzing the narrow space, the uneven cobblestones, and the flickering lanterns on the wall. "Not exactly ideal for an ambush either. No way I'm winning a straight-up fight."
He forced himself to think. "Okay, maybe I don't need to fight them directly. If I can throw them off, scare them enough, they'll back off on their own. But how?"
Then it hit him. The oppressive miasma that clung to him—the curse from Nyx. It unsettled people, made them uneasy, even when he wasn't trying. Maybe, for once, he could actually use it to his advantage.
"Right… bluff it is," he decided, straightening his posture. "Just gotta sell it. Make them believe I'm more dangerous than I really am."
He pulled his hood lower, letting the shadows partially obscure his face. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, lowering his voice to a low, chilling tone.
"Ku ku ku… what do we have here?" he drawled, the words almost unnatural on his tongue but carrying just enough weight to sound convincing.
The thugs whirled around, startled by the sudden intrusion. One sneered. "Who the hell are you?! Got a death wish interrupting us?!"
Al tilted his head, the shadow of his hood obscuring his face. "Who am I?" he echoed, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "I suppose lowly thugs like you wouldn't know. That's fine—I'm feeling rather generous today."
The second thug shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting between Al and his companions. "Boss, something's… off about this guy," he muttered, his voice tinged with unease.
Al ignored the remark, taking another deliberate step forward. "Here's the deal: leave the girl alone, and I'll let this slight slide."
His tone darkened, a sharp edge cutting through his words. "But if you don't…" He let the sentence hang in the air, the implied threat chilling enough to make the two lackeys exchange uneasy glances.
However, the "boss" snorted, rolling his shoulders as he stepped forward. "Tch, big talk for someone who looks like he's never held a blade. Let's see how tough you really are." And with a swift motion, he drew his sword, the blade gleaming faintly in the dim light of the alley.
Al cursed under his breath, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Well, shit. So much for plan A," he muttered to himself.
The thug advanced, sword in hand, and Al clenched his jaw, frustration building. But he wasn't out of options, not yet. "No more bluffing. Magic it is."
He'd used it on monsters before—he knew it worked on them. But on a blessed individual? That was a different story. The only time he'd tried it on one, it had only made them falter for a moment before they regained their footing. Would it work again? He wasn't sure, but he didn't have time to figure it out.
Steadying his breath, he locked his focus on the thug. The air seemed to thicken around him as he visualized his target—"The man's body will give way. Sleep will take him, and nothing will stop it". The words came easily, his magic following the rhythm of his will.
Raising his palm toward the advancing thug, Al's voice was sharp and commanding as he uttered, "Fall!"
The effect was instant. The thug's eyes rolled back, and he crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings severed.
Al's eyes widened, a mix of awe and disbelief flooding him. "Well, damn." He let out a breath, impressed by how powerful the magic had been. "Didn't think it would work like that well."
The remaining two thugs froze, eyes darting from Al to their unconscious leader. "W-what the hell did you just do?!" one stammered, panic evident in his voice.
Still riding the adrenaline, Al straightened up, his expression turning back cold and predatory. "Cursed him to death," he said in a voice dripping with menace. "And unless you want the same fate, I suggest you leave. Now."
One thug gulped audibly, his fear written all over his face. The other tried to stand his ground but was clearly shaking.
Al raised his palm slowly, letting the gesture linger ominously in the air. "Or... should I demonstrate?"
The thugs didn't need any further encouragement. They scrambled to grab their unconscious boss, their movements frantic and uncoordinated, before bolting down the alley, disappearing into the shadows.
Al watched them retreat for a moment before letting out a long, shaky exhale and slumping against the wall.
"Holy crap," he muttered, his heart still pounding. His thoughts raced as he replayed the encounter. "Didn't even know if that would work!"
He chuckled to himself as the tension began to dissipate. "Bell was right, though. Chantless magic? Definitely handy."
Turning around, he scanned the alley for the girl. "Hey, you okay?" His voice softened, but the alley was empty. The girl was gone.
Al blinked, momentarily thrown off. "Well, that's just great," he muttered, scratching the back of his head. "Save the day, and the damsel vanishes. Classic."
His gaze shifted upward as the sun dipped below the horizon. "Dammit, how long have I been out here?"
He glanced toward the end of the alley. "Better get back before I end up in even more bullshit."
As he turned to leave, he didn't notice a pair of sharp, elven eyes glaring at him from the rooftops. The figure, hidden beneath a green hood, watched him with open hostility, their gaze filled with suspicion and disdain.
Al, oblivious to the scrutiny, tucked his hands into his pockets and muttered to himself, "I wonder…"
D/D
"I wonder how Al's doing," Bell muttered, absently picking up another knife from the display.
He had been shopping with Eina all day, and while she had helped him pick out new gear, finding the right weapon was proving harder than he expected. No matter how many knives he tested, none of them felt right—the weight was off, the grip uncomfortable, the balance just a little wrong.
At least he'd had better luck with armor. Earlier, he had picked up a light set—the Pyonkichi Mk-II, crafted by a certain Welf Crozzo. Light yet durable, it was primarily white, accented by red, web-like cracks across its surface. The markings didn't affect its strength; they were just part of the design, giving the set an oddly refined look.
But even with new gear in hand, Bell's thoughts kept drifting.
With Hestia at the gods' banquet, Al was likely on his own, either holed up at home or working at the Hostess. Was he keeping busy? Or was he brooding again, shutting himself off like he always did when things got rough?
Bell frowned, gripping the handle of the knife in his hand. He wanted to do something—anything—to remind Al he wasn't alone. Maybe he could buy him a meal at the Hostess? Or...
His thoughts trailed off as something caught his eye from across the room.
A set of armor, displayed between racks of other gear, almost tucked away—hidden.
The moment he saw it, he knew.
Steel gray and jet black, the chestplate was sleek yet solid, its sharp lines giving it a streamlined, almost predatory look. One shoulder guard was smooth and minimalist, while the other was plated—layered and battle-ready.
The wrist guards were strong but not bulky, built for someone who needed to be quick on their feet. And then there was the dark long coat, hanging behind it all, flowing as if designed for dramatic effect.
It wasn't just armor—it was Al's armor.
Strong, imposing, with an edge that matched his presence perfectly. It wasn't just protection; it was a statement.
Bell barely noticed he was holding his breath. This was it. This was how he could help.
"Hey, you want that armor, kid?"
A voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Bell turned to see a middle-aged man grinning at him, clearly eager to make a sale.
"15,000 valis, and it's yours."
Bell blinked. "15,000?" That was his entire budget for the knives he'd been searching for. He hesitated for only a moment, torn between priorities—then clenched his fist.
Some things were more important.
"I'll take it!"
The salesman's grin widened, almost as if he had been expecting that answer. "Smart choice, kid."
Bell handed over the valis, a strange mix of excitement and unease settling in his chest. As the man wrapped the armor, Bell reached for the chestplate—and that was when he noticed it.
Inside the armor, faint but deliberate, was an engraving. A signature.
Scratched out.
Beneath the defaced name, there were nearly imperceptible markings—symbols Bell didn't recognize, scorched into the metal beneath the deliberate damage.
Frowning, he traced the etchings with his fingers. Someone had gone out of their way to conceal this. But why?
A nagging curiosity crept in, but he pushed it aside.
Whatever it meant, it wasn't his concern right now.
What mattered was that this armor would mean something to Al—a gift he'd truly appreciate.
"Found what you were looking for, Bell?", Eina's voice pulled him back to reality. He turned to find her watching him, a curious smile tugging at her lips.
Bell blinked, then grinned, the uncertainty from before vanishing in an instant. "No, but I found something even better!"
D/D
Night draped Orario in its usual cloak of lantern light and long shadows, the streets quieter now as most had settled in for the evening.
Al stretched his arms over his head, stifling a yawn as he trudged home, exhaustion weighing on his limbs. Another grueling night at the Hostess—his hands still ached from scrubbing dish after dish while Mia barked at him like he was some rookie adventurer who didn't know which way to hold a sword.
At least he'd managed to bargain his way into some takeout. A little extra effort, a little forced charm, and he'd walked out with two meals: pasta and meat for Bell—just the way he liked it—and a steak with vegetables for himself. Not bad.
The only question now was whether Bell was even home. For all he knew, he was still out finishing his "date" with Eina. If that were the case, more food for him. A win either way.
He reached the crumbling remains of the old church and slipped inside, the familiar scent of dust and withered wood settling around him. Heading down into the basement, he opened the door and called out, "I'm hoSme."
For a second, silence. Then—
"Oh, welcome back!"
Al blinked in surprise. He tossed the bag of food onto the table and glanced over. "Huh. Thought you'd still be out."
"I came back a little while ago." Bell rubbed the back of his head, looking oddly fidgety.
Al smirked. "So, how was your date?"
Bell smiled, crossing his arms. "It was good! I learned a lot and bought a few things!"
Al raised an eyebrow. "Hah! You didn't deny it this time!"
Bell's face flushed, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to come up with a response but failed.
Al chuckled and pulled the food from the bag. "Well, what better way to end the day than with a good meal? Pasta for you, steak for me—Mia's parting gift for my 'hard work.'"
Bell's eyes lit up. "Oh, thanks a bunch, Al!"
The two ate, exchanging stories about their day. Bell talked about the shops he'd visited, the gear he'd looked at, and how hard it had been to find a decent weapon. Al, in turn, complained about Mia's constant yelling and how Syr had conveniently disappeared the moment things got busy.
Once they finished eating, Al leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out. "So, what'd you end up buying?"
Bell perked up, eager to share. "Oh, right! I got some armor!"
That caught Al's attention. "Armor? Lemme see."
Bell quickly got up to change and came back moments later, stepping into the room with his freshly donned suit of armor. Al's eyes widened. "…Damn. You actually look like a real adventurer now!"
Bell flushed but smiled proudly. "It fits really well. I think it'll help a lot in the Dungeon!"
Al nodded, impressed. "Good pick... though you kinda forgot about lil' old me, huh?" He smirked, teasing as he leaned back.
Bell laughed nervously. "Actually... I got you something too."
Al frowned, confused. "What, potions, a carving knife for magic stones?"
Bell hesitated, then grabbed something wrapped from the side and placed it in Al's hands. Al unwrapped it, his confusion deepening. Armor.
His mind blanked for a moment. Did Bell… just buy him armor?
He stared at the set in disbelief. Steel gray and jet black, sleek yet sturdy. It wasn't cheap junk, that was for sure. "What—why? How much did this even—"
"D-Don't worry about any of that!" Bell stammered, blushing deeply. "Just try it on already!"
Still processing, Al grabbed the armor. "Yeah… alright."
The basement air was cool against his skin as he donned the armor. The chestplate fit snugly, and the steel gray and jet black were a perfect match for his frame.
The long coat hung behind him like a shadow, its sharp edges giving him an almost intimidating presence. As he adjusted the shoulder plates, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. "Damn, I look like a real badass."
He stepped back into the living area, where Bell was sitting at the table. The moment Bell saw him, his eyes widened in amazement. "Whoa, Al... You look really good! The armor suits you perfectly!"
Al's cheeks flushed a soft red at the compliment, still processing the weight of the gift. "Yeah… It's nice. It fits well. The coat might be a little much, but I can tweak it later."
Bell grinned. "I think it looks cool, actually!"
Al's smile faltered slightly as his thoughts raced. "He bought this for me. He spent his own money just to help me out..."
Al had come to Orario with so much on his mind, a weight he couldn't shake, and now, just looking at Bell, he felt a little lighter. The warmth in his chest grew as he looked at Bell, who was still smiling at him.
"Thanks, Bell," Al muttered, his voice quieter than usual as he looked at the floor. "This really means a lot…"
Bell flushed, rubbing the back of his head nervously. "I'm just happy it fits!"
Al smiled again, his heart full. He'd been so focused on surviving, on making it through each day, that he hadn't even realized how much Bell had done for him—just by being there.
Al cleared his throat, then shifted awkwardly. "So… uh… Did you, uh... get weapons with all that extra money, or...?"
Bell hesitated. "No... I didn't have enough for weapons. I spent what I had on the armor... I figured it would be better to get something for you that would actually help."
Al's heart fluttered at the thought. Bell had skipped out on getting something for himself just to buy this armor for him. It wasn't lost on him. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his cool, but the warmth only grew.
"That's... that's really generous of you," Al muttered, looking to the side to hide the blush creeping across his face. "Thanks again, Bell. I don't even know what to say."
The moment lingered between them, the weight of the gift still hanging in the air. Al rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to brush off the feeling that had settled in his chest. Bell, ever the optimistic presence, looked at him with a wide grin, clearly content with the moment.
"Well," Al started, shifting on his feet as he glanced at the clock on the wall. "Guess it's getting late. We should probably hit the hay."
Bell nodded, still smiling. "Yeah. We've got another day tomorrow."
Al didn't know why, but he felt a small knot in his chest loosen at the thought. The usual weight of the day, the stress, the looming pressure of his curse and the Black Dragon, all seemed a little less heavy tonight. Maybe it was the armor, or maybe it was Bell's quiet but constant presence—whatever it was, he felt lighter. Lighter than he had in ages.
"Alright," Al muttered, a smile tugging at his lips as he walked to the cot he'd claimed for himself. "Goodnight, Bell."
"Night, Al," Bell replied, already pulling the covers over himself.
The basement was quiet now, the only sound the soft rustling of sheets. Al lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, letting his mind drift. He thought about the armor, the generosity, and how something as simple as a gift could shift his perspective. A small but important part of him, the part that had been buried under the weight of survival for so long, started to feel a little more at peace.
As the night settled in around them, Al closed his eyes. The usual ache in his heart was quieter tonight, replaced by a warmth that spread through his chest. Maybe he was starting to find a place here after all.