When his mother followed Dr Evans to Everlight Port, he was told his name was henceforth to be Archibald Evans. Sal'awi would be a thing of the past; a name to be safe-kept for when they visited the village. Except the promised visit never happened. Mrs Evans–as his mother prefers to call herself now–had renamed her son after a romance novel she stole from the school library when she was sixteen that one time she was allowed to leave the village.

"Your real name will stand out. We have to blend in or they won't accept us. I am doing this for you Sa—Archie. I am doing this so you can have a better life," Mrs Evans said on their first night. He was nine then—mind old enough to remember and young enough to forget.

She stole Archie's talisman soon after. It had been a token from his grandfather, a way to keep the call of the moon at bay for when the day would come. To make the turning less painful. His mother vehemently refused to acknowledge that side of them. When signs did began showing at the eve of Archie's twelfth birthday, she dragged him to a shaman. The old man painted over Archie's tanned skin evoking the Holy Words to put the cursed blood to sleep. For the next six years of his life, the blessing bestowed upon his ka'an felt more closer to a curse.

Blinding white light assaults Archie's vision the second they flutter open. Every bones and muscles in his body ache at the tiniest movement. A thin coat of substance, jarringly sticky, has settled over the lower half of his face drenching the top part of his shirt.

Deep, dark-brown eyes hover above him just a shy short from his prone body. He'd recognise that unholy ensemble anywhere. That, and the jeans jacket she stole from him.

"Good morning, mis'yi. Busy night? I didn't want to believe your boss would be stupid enough to go through with his plan but my, oh my, he was he indeed, a big dumb fella." She snickers.

"What—"

"You have shitty friends, did you know that?"

"I don't—"

"Francis should be back any minute with the van. We'll drop you off anywhere you want to. If you value your life you should hop on the next bus away from here. I must say, for a stray who has denied his very nature your healing abilities are impressive. You won't be able to walk like you used to." She gestures idly at him. "Nothing a good ol' bed rest can't fix. Apart from that hiccup, you should be back in top shape. That giant gash will have to stay. I wasn't exactly going easy last night considering... Let's be honest, you never stood a chance against me."

It all comes crashing down on him. Bits and flashes of what transpired left holes in his memories after—the meeting! The liquid he was made to drink. His first full unsheding. Those bastards had done it. Archie jolts up with a wince, raising both arms at his eye-level. The scars are still as he remembers them except the ink marring his skin have vanished. Gone. Like they were never there in the first place.

"Magic is still magic," the woman lazily points out. "Those binding tattoos weren't impressive, anyway."

He drops his arms to his side. "Huh..."