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Summary
Sitting on the cliffside overlooking the village on Sphinx Island, Marco felt the night settle around him like a heavy blanket. He swirled the last mouthful of sake in the bottom of his bottle, watching the liquid catch the light of the stars, before tipping it back with a sigh.
The village below was quiet, its scattered lights faint against the vast sea of stars above. Here on Sphinx Island, he was known as the village doctor. People knew him by the small, warm details—his endless patience, the way he always had the right herbs for a child’s cough, his stern but caring gaze. But that wasn’t him. Not the real him. To these people, the name “Marco the Phoenix” was little more than a legend, a story tied to a history most here couldn’t truly comprehend.And those who did? They were all gone or dead.