Chapter 17 – A Stubborn Guy Who Refused to Die

The sun had already passed its zenith, spilling its warm light over the steps of the east wing of the Containment Hospital. Ylíria's sky held that pale hue of a world trying to appear peaceful — but failing to convince. A few clouds hovered high above, unmoving, as if torn between drifting onward or simply watching.

Ezra sat on the greenish stone steps, in the shade of the curved glass structure framing the main entrance. There, where the city blurred into the distant hum of air traffic and the occasional chime of surveillance drones, he sat quietly. Breathing.

In his hands, he idly spun a silver card between his fingers. On the back, sealed with a faint layer of institutional holography, was the crest of the Ylírian government: a scale whose plates held, in perfect balance, a book and a hammer — symbol of law, knowledge, and strength in parity. Around it, a golden spiral coiled diagonally, encircling everything like a seal of Vis and order.

Below that, the name:
Ezra W. V. Ashenguard
Identification code. Blood type. Energy category. Status: Active.

But it was the front of the card that held his attention.

In the upper corner, an image. His new reflection. Or what the government now claimed was him.

His once short, black hair now tumbled down to his waist in unruly waves. At the roots, there were still traces of the original black — stubborn remnants of who he used to be.

But the ends… completely white. Between the two extremes, a wide streak of dark green shimmered almost liquid under the light, as if something alive had seeped in and decided to stay.

His pupils, once brown, now bore a deep red hue — almost like burnt wine.

Ezra sighed. Not out of exhaustion, but from unfamiliarity. The afternoon breeze brushed his hair, carrying the cold, metallic scent of the hospital facilities, mixed with the distant fragrance of the few natural flowers and the many artificial ones, planted there only to seem alive.

He spun the card once more between his fingers. The gleaming metal caught the afternoon sun as his eyes locked onto his own photo. The expression was serious, almost cold — but it was undeniably his.

'It's really strange to imagine that this is me...'

The reply didn't come in words, but in thought. An ancient voice, deep and soft, surfaced in the back of his mind, as if speaking through the cracks of a dream. There was a patient tone to it, almost condescending, but never hostile.

"Humans are so fragile... four years of inactivity and this is what happens?"

Ezra blinked, and for a brief moment his eyes flickered — as if something within him stirred with the memory.

"Ah," he murmured, nearly smiling. "Right… you're still there."

He was referring to Mazzareth, the demon with whom he had made a pact. And even if his physical presence wasn't visible to the world, Ezra knew exactly where he was. All it took was a glance at the obsidian earring set into his left ear. A gleaming fragment, dark as a moonless sky.

Suddenly, a small form appeared on his shoulder — a tiny figure, no more than fifteen centimeters tall, as if the very concept of Mazzareth had shrunk to fit that space. He wore a long, white mask with three holes — two eyes and a mouth — curving gently into a subtle smile.

His feet didn't touch the fabric of Ezra's shoulder, but floated just above it, as if the world itself dared not bind him to matter.

"Where else would I be?" he replied in a tone almost amused, arms crossed like someone watching the inevitable unfold. "Not to be repetitive, but—"

"Don't you dare bring that up," Ezra cut him off without looking. "I know. The earring is your vessel. If it leaves my body, you go with it... and we both pay the price."

Mazzareth didn't respond immediately, only tilted his head slightly. The white mask covering his small face curved into a faint smile — as if silently saying: "Good boy."

Ezra sighed. Ever since he had awakened, he hadn't had a moment's peace. Mazzareth never went quiet. And he seemed determined to comment on everything.

"But I must say," the demon continued in his calm, curious tone, slowly floating through the air around the bench, "you humans... though fragile, never cease to surprise me."

He drifted away, circling the entrance garden like a curious specter exploring a strange world. But when he reached about thirty meters away, he stopped abruptly — as if he had collided with something invisible. A faint glow flickered across Ezra's earring at the same instant. The boundary of the pact.

"Bah..." the demon muttered, frustrated. "This existential fence again..."

"Tsk. Always forgetting that part." At last, he turned back, resuming his orbit around Ezra like an impatient satellite.

Before Ezra could respond, the hospital's automatic doors slid open with a soft hiss. A gentle puff of air conditioning spilled out, contrasting with the warm afternoon air.

Out stepped Dr. Elmar, the physician overseeing Ezra's case. He still wore his white lab coat, now open over plain clothes, and carried something in his hand. His eyes scanned the area with familiarity, and a faint, tired smile appeared when he spotted Ezra.

"You must've waited quite a while, haven't you?" he said kindly, adjusting his glasses as he approached with measured steps. "I apologize."

"Yes! And a long time!" Mazzareth shouted, gesturing dramatically. "So much we could've done in the meantime, huh? Ezra, come on, scold this senile old man—" He attempted to poke the doctor's nose, but his ghostly fingers passed right through the flesh without resistance. "Tsk."

Ezra smiled, stifling the laugh that threatened to escape.

"No problem, doctor," he replied, rising calmly to his feet. "Actually, a bit of fresh air and silence did me good." He glanced toward the horizon and added softly: "You don't get that every day. Especially not with a view like this."

From that height, the hospital entrance opened onto a wide terrace. The city of Ylíria stretched out below like a living mosaic.

Tall buildings with mirrored façades and sleek designs mingled with older blocks covered in ivy. Among the structures, towering trees cast long shadows across the broad, clean streets. Holographic signs floated here and there, gently translucent. The sky, now nearing mid-afternoon, reflected shades of amber and pale blue. The early afternoon sun gilded the rooftops below, where mixed-architecture buildings — steel, glass, concrete, and the occasional greenish ceramic dome — formed the cityscape.

Small civilian aircraft glided silently through the sky. It was a city alive, pulsing. But from that vantage point, everything looked calm… almost poetic.

The hospital garden, just ahead of the steps where Ezra had been sitting, was well maintained — rows of meticulously trimmed shrubs, lilac and orange flowers arranged in concentric spirals, and a low fountain murmuring a constant stream of water. The breeze carried the scent of opened petals.

"True," Elmar said, observing the scenery beside Ezra. "I get lost in it sometimes too."

A moment of silence followed. And then:

"But... that's not why I'm here," Elmar resumed, pulling a small object from his pocket.

It was a digital watch — old-fashioned in design, but robust and functional, with a dark strap and a matte screen. The kind of device that could last decades with minimal maintenance. Elmar held it carefully before handing it over.

"Not one of the newer models," Elmar noted as he passed it to Ezra with a touch of care, "but it should still do the job. The system's synced with the central network. Besides the basic functions, it shows your biometrics… and your Vis levels."

He paused briefly, as if weighing whether to continue.

"And it has an internal tracker."

Ezra furrowed his brows immediately. The movement was subtle, but clear enough.

"It's just a safety protocol," Elmar hastened to explain, still in that gentle tone. "Nothing invasive."

Ezra accepted the watch, turning it between his fingers the same way he had done with the card earlier. He examined it silently, studying every detail. The screen flickered softly at his touch, as if awakening.

"Functionality over looks," he murmured. "Suits you, doctor."

Elmar let out a muted laugh, adjusting his glasses with an automatic motion. But his eyes remained locked onto Ezra's.

Ezra didn't look away. Still holding the watch, he swung it lightly in front of the doctor.

"But one question… why all the care?" he asked, his voice steady but restrained. "All this kindness? New clothes, and not just any, designer labels, if I'm not mistaken, A communicator… a bit old, sure, but by the looks of it, still better than the ones I used before. Even an identity card, and documents delivered in record time. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful — but…"

He paused, eyes locked on the doctor's.

"Even if my history seems to have vanished, you must know who I am just from my name."

Elmar went quiet for a moment. A second too long to be casual. His previously serene face shifted ever so slightly , as if the question had struck deeper than he wanted. The usual weariness of a doctor now gave way to something else: an ancient weight in his eyes, somewhere between sorrow and... compassion.

"Is it again because of that mysterious VIP who covered all my expenses?" Ezra pressed, his tone blending suspicion with genuine curiosity. "Someone who decides to save me from certain death... and foots the bill for everything... and gives me pocket money? seems a bit too ideal."

"Yes... and no."

The words came out softly. Elmar took a deep breath, now staring not at the young man before him, but at something far off — perhaps a memory.

"Actually," he continued, his voice low, "I was the first to see your body… when you literally fell from the sky. Right there..."

He gestured slowly toward the hospital's rooftop terrace. "You landed in the middle of the night, right in the center of the helipad, no warning, no radar detection, no heat signature, no air displacement."

Ezra blinked, surprised. Mazzareth also fell silent.

"You were covered in strange burns, partially disintegrated, your body broken at angles that defy any logic… but… alive. Against all odds."

Elmar fell silent. The wind blew slowly between the cascading buildings below, where the city unfolded in layers — glass and concrete towers rising between shadow and green. The sparse vegetation on the slope swayed lightly, as if listening too.

The doctor turned his gaze back to Ezra — and, for a moment, he didn't see a patient. Nor a name wrapped in mystery and caution. He saw someone who still didn't know who they were... and perhaps because of that, needed to be seen with more care.

"Look," Elmar said quietly.

He lifted the hospital gown up to his chest. His torso, now exposed to the early afternoon sun, revealed a jagged map of scars — thick, uneven marks crisscrossing the skin with brutal honesty. There were stitches, keloids, poorly aligned tissues. But one stood out: a thick scar that ran straight across his waist, like a dividing line.

Ezra's eyes widened. Mazzareth let out a barely stifled chuckle.

"Wow…"

"Holy sh—" Ezra choked on impulse. "Sorry."

Elmar gave a tired half-smile, pulling his clothes back down. "No worries. I'm used to it."

Silence returned, this time with a different weight.

"I was in the army," he said at last. "And you probably know… a soldier's life is never easy."

He paused — not for drama, but because some memories need time.

"Long story short… I was cut in half. Literally. A mission gone wrong. Rescue came late. But they managed to keep me alive… stitched me back together, piece by piece."

Ezra held his gaze, no sarcasm in his eyes.

"And after that day, I decided to change my life. Gave up weapons, became a doctor. Chose to keep the scars… not out of pride, but so I'd never forget why."

He took a deep breath, then finished with calm sincerity:

"I helped you for three reasons."

He raised one finger.

"One: because it's my job. I get paid for it."

Then a second.

"Two: because it was a direct request from a VIP of a level I never imagined I'd cross paths with."

And finally, the third.

"Three…"
Elmar hesitated for a second, then looked Ezra straight in the eyes, without fear, without shields.

"Because I'm also a stubborn guy… who refused to die."