Orin, who had looked half-dead only moments ago, suddenly seemed completely awake. He pushed himself upright and stepped closer, squinting at the cores as if staring harder might somehow reveal that his eyes had deceived him.
The faint glow inside the crystal surfaces pulsed softly beneath the moonlight, threads of elemental energy shifting beneath smooth translucent layers like trapped embers breathing beneath glass.
Darius frowned.
Not because he disliked the idea.
Because he already knew Ronan.
And whenever Ronan got that calm look on his face, arguing usually ended in failure.
Ronan let out a quiet breath and looked at Oliver.
"First of all, I don't need money. Not now." His voice remained casual, but his eyes stayed steady. "Second..." He held Oliver's gaze. "I told you about venturing into the Cinderspire Nest. I said you wouldn't regret it, remember?"
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"I don't want you guys walking away with nothing."
Without another word, he took two cores and slipped them into his storage ring.
Then he handed one toward Orin.
Another toward Oliver.
Darius opened his mouth slightly.
Ronan didn't even let him start.
"Darius," he said without looking over, "next time you come with me on a hunt, we'll find something else for you. Something that suits you better."
Darius stared at him for a second.
Then his shoulders eased.
"...Fine."
Oliver looked down at the core resting in his palm.
He wanted to protest.
Wanted to say this was ridiculous.
Wanted to shove it back.
But the words stopped somewhere in his throat.
The core felt heavier than it should have.
Not physically.
Something else.
Beside him, Orin stared blankly at his own.
Then, without warning—
"I'm going to sleep."
He immediately collapsed backwards onto the deck.
No searching for a better spot.
No adjustment.
Nothing.
Just thud.
A second later—
"...Goodnight."
Silence.
Oliver stared.
Darius stared.
Ronan stared.
"...Is he actually asleep?" Darius whispered.
A soft snore answered him.
Ronan snorted.
Oliver barked out a laugh.
"He passed out!"
"He fought monsters all day," Ronan said with amusement. "Leave the poor guy alone."
The wooden deck beneath them carried the lingering warmth of the day, though the night breeze had begun to steal it away little by little. Far below, dark waters stretched endlessly beneath the vessel, occasionally disturbed by soft ripples reflecting silver moonlight.
Ronan walked toward the railing and sat down, resting his back against the cool metal.
Darius followed without saying anything and lowered himself beside him.
For a while, neither spoke.
The stars spread endlessly overhead.
Wind brushed against their clothes.
The world felt strangely quiet.
Oliver remained seated by himself, slowly turning the core between his fingers.
The shifting light danced across his face.
But his thoughts had drifted somewhere far away.
Kael always hated this.
The greed. The politics. The rot.
His fingers tightened slightly around the crystal.
He remembered clan meetings. The polished halls. The smiling faces that never reached their eyes.
He remembered Kael sitting silently in corners.
Then later—
Not showing up at all.
At first, people had laughed.
Then mocked.
Then simply stopped caring.
Oliver remembered the disgust that had slowly begun appearing in Kael's eyes.
Not anger.
Not frustration.
Something quieter.
Something colder.
He wanted fairness.
Honesty.
But the Flamecrest Clan traded those things away a long time ago.
Oliver lowered his head slightly.
Then another thought surfaced.
Not just Kael.
Lyra and I hated it too... once.
He remembered himself years ago.
Remembered the fire in his chest whenever he talked about changing things.
About proving that status shouldn't matter.
About becoming someone different.
Then fame came.
Recognition.
Praise.
And once he tasted it—
He wanted more.
More attention.
More admiration.
More people are looking his way.
He wanted people to speak his name.
Wanted to stand above everyone else.
Wanted to feel important.
His lips curled into a bitter smile.
Funny.
I became exactly what I hated.
Meanwhile, soft laughter reached him.
Oliver looked up.
Ronan and Darius were talking quietly beside the railing.
Darius was saying something with an unusually serious face while Ronan stared at him with visible suspicion.
"...No."
"But hear me out."
"No."
"You haven't even heard it."
"I don't need to."
Oliver stared at them.
Then, at the relaxed expressions on their faces.
Simple.
Natural.
No hidden calculations.
No masks.
His chest felt strangely tight.
No wonder Kael respects him.
His gaze rested on Ronan.
Ronan builds something better.
Something honest.
Something we lost.
He stood.
Walked over.
"So..." Oliver said, interrupting them, "all those hunts... they were for Lady Ishulane, weren't they?"
Ronan and Darius froze.
Then slowly looked at each other.
The identical guilty expressions nearly made Oliver laugh.
"You two are terrible liars."
Darius rubbed the back of his neck.
Ronan looked away and whistled.
Oliver raised an eyebrow.
"You do realise she refuses gifts from everyone, right?"
Darius chuckled.
"We'll try anyway."
"If she refuses, that's fine."
Ronan's eyes narrowed with dangerous confidence.
"She won't refuse."
Darius immediately turned.
"No."
Ronan blinked innocently.
"What?"
"No schemes."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"No. I know that face."
Darius pointed accusingly at him.
"You've already tricked Amara, ma'a,m once."
Ronan looked offended.
"I didn't trick her."
"You sent your clone to class."
"Temporary educational delegation."
"If she finds out," Darius continued flatly, "you may not survive."
Oliver stared at Ronan for half a second.
Then doubled over laughing.
"You lied to Ama,ra ma'am?!"
Ronan coughed.
"It wasn't exactly—"
"Oh no." Oliver wiped tears from his eyes. "No, no. Forget everything else. I need to see this when she finds out."
Ronan looked horrified.
"Darius, don't tell him details."
Their laughter carried into the night sky, scattering into the wind.
The heaviness from before slowly loosened.
Not gone.
But lighter.
Warmer.
After a while, Oliver's expression softened.
The laughter faded.
He looked at Ronan quietly.
"Ronan..."
Ronan turned.
"Why do you want to be strong?"
No hesitation.
No dramatic pause.
"Because I want to protect the people I love."
Ronan shrugged lightly.
"That's all."
Oliver went still.
The words struck somewhere deep inside him.
Suddenly, he remembered Amara's first lecture.
"Strength isn't for fame."
"It's to protect."
Back then, he barely listened.
No—
That wasn't true.
He had listened.
He simply hadn't cared.
He'd been too busy trying to impress her.
Too busy chasing her approval like sunlight.
He had wanted her recognition.
Wanted status.
Wanted people in the clan looking at him differently.
Wanted admiration.
Slowly, his eyes lowered.
If I actually listened...
Would things have changed?
He turned toward Darius.
"What about you?"
Darius folded his arms behind his head and lay back on the deck, staring upward.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Only watched the stars.
"I don't have some noble reason like Ronan."
The wind rustled softly through his hair.
"I just..." he said quietly, "want to know something."
Oliver waited.
Darius's eyes didn't leave the sky.
"Was it worth it?"
His voice lowered.
"Leaving everything behind just to chase power."
He swallowed.
"I want to find that answer."
Silence followed.
Oliver looked toward Ronan.
Ronan only shrugged and smiled helplessly.
As if saying—
Don't ask me.
I don't know either.
And so they sat there.
Three young men beneath an endless sea of stars.
Not bound by blood.
Not by duty.
Only by dreams still unfinished.
Regrets are carried quietly.
And a stubborn desire to create something better in a world that had forgotten how.
A few days earlier, inside Serenwyn Academy, late morning sunlight spilt through tall arched windows and painted long golden lines across polished stone floors.
Ronan sat near the back of Amara's classroom, slouched lazily in his chair with one arm supporting his head.
At least—
That was what it looked like.
But the usual sharpness in his eyes seemed muted.
Distant.
Like a lamp burning behind fog.
Voices drifted around him while the lecture continued, but they passed by like background noise.
Then footsteps entered.
Elenor, Egan, and Serena walked inside, chatting among themselves.
Elenor looked up.
Spotted Ronan.
And immediately peeled away from the group.
Her face brightened.
"Good morning, Ronan!"
She leaned toward his desk with an easy smile.
Ronan blinked slowly before looking over.
A small smile appeared.
"Good morning, Elenor."
The exchange was brief.
Normal.
Yet something felt off.
Elenor felt it almost immediately.
Ronan answered politely.
Smiled when appropriate.
But it felt... distant.
Like speaking through glass.
Her own smile faltered slightly.
Before she could ask anything—
Amara entered.
Her sharp eyes swept across the classroom automatically.
Then paused on Ronan.
Her brows drew together slightly.
He looks different.
Quieter.
Withdrawn.
For some reason, the memory of yesterday surfaced.
Maybe I was too harsh on him.
As the afternoon sun dipped lower, class ended.
Students gathered into groups.
Voices rose.
Laughter echoed.
But Ronan packed his things silently.
Then left.
No stopping.
No conversation.
No looking back.
Days passed.
And it continued.
Every afternoon, he disappeared into the library.
Always the quietest corner.
Always another book.
His presence in the Academy began to feel like a shadow moving through the halls.
Polite.
Distant.
Mechanical.
Then one quiet evening—
Ronan turned another page in a book discussing perception skills.
Paper rustled softly beneath his fingers.
The familiar scent of old books and parchment hung in the air.
Then a gentle voice broke the silence.
"Can I sit here?"
Ronan looked up.
A small smile finally reached his face.
"Samantha? Sure."
Samantha sat across from him with her usual quiet grace. Even in silence, her presence carried warmth, like sunlight finding its way through cold winter air.
Her eyes studied him briefly.
Then moved toward the book.
"What are you reading?"
Ronan rested his cheek against his palm.
"Something about perception skills."
"Do you need help choosing a new one?"
"No."
The answer came immediately.
Too immediately.
Samantha watched him for a few moments.
Then her brows slowly furrowed.
"...So where's my idiot brother?"
Ronan finally looked at her.
A crooked smile appeared.
"Gone hunting."
"And he didn't tell me why?" Samantha demanded.
Ronan shrugged.
"You know him."
His voice softened slightly.
"He didn't want you worrying."
Samantha leaned back and crossed her arms.
Clearly unconvinced.
"Where did he go?"
"Spiritreach Wilds."
Her expression changed instantly.
"...That place?"
Her fingers tightened against her sleeves.
"When is he coming back?"
Ronan looked at her quietly.
"In a few more days."
The silence that followed felt much heavier than the one inside the library.
They fell into a low, hushed conversation after that, their voices barely rising above the soft crackle of candle flames. Around them, shelves of books stood like silent guardians beneath warm amber light, and the scent of aged paper and wax hung in the still air. Their words were small things—classes, meals in the academy hall, irritating teachers who assigned too much work and spoke too long—but the subjects hardly mattered.
It was the rhythm that mattered.
Serena complained about an instructor who had made them rewrite rune formations three times because of "sloppy symmetry," rolling her eyes so dramatically that Ronan let out a quiet snort.
"Three times?" he whispered. "Cruel."
"Cruel?" Serena stared at him as if he had committed a crime. "You weren't the one drawing circles until your fingers cramped."
Ronan leaned lazily against his chair. "I would've just accepted failure."
She narrowed her eyes.
"You're hopeless."
"Mhm."
"You aren't denying it?"
"Too much effort."
Serena clicked her tongue, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward.
The sound of turning pages and distant footsteps drifted through the library. Time moved quietly around them. Their voices stayed low, naturally falling into familiar patterns—little pauses, interruptions, half-finished thoughts that no longer needed explaining.
There was comfort in it.
Concern hidden beneath teasing.
Care tucked into ordinary words.
The ease of people who had spent years sharing the same space.
But this Ronan...
...was only a Phantom Clone.
The next day, the classroom carried a different mood.
Excited whispers drifted from desk to desk. Chairs scraped against the floor as students leaned toward one another, discussing possibilities before anything had even been announced.
Ronan sat near the back with his head resting on one hand, looking as though he had barely survived the effort of staying awake.
Amara stood at the front of the room and tapped the desk lightly.
"The competition is coming up," she announced. "Anyone interested, raise your hand."
The room immediately stirred.
Several hands shot up.
Others hesitated.
Some glanced around cautiously before lifting theirs.
Serena immediately clasped her hands together beneath her desk and lowered her head slightly.
Please not with him.
Her eyes slid toward the back of the classroom.
Anyone but him.
He'll just drag us down with his laziness...
For a brief moment, she looked genuinely devoted.
The gods, it seemed, answered her prayer.
Amara's gaze shifted toward the back.
"Ronan, aren't you interested?"
Ronan slowly raised his head as though he had been summoned back from another world.
"No, ma'am."
The room quieted slightly.
Amara blinked.
"Why not?"
"There are more capable students than I."
Simple.
Flat.
Not a ripple in his voice.
No irritation.
No embarrassment.
No explanation.
He lowered his head again.
And just like that, the moment disappeared.
Serena stared at him for a moment.
Then slowly released the breath she'd been holding.
A tiny smile threatened to appear before she immediately forced it away.
The next afternoon, just as class ended and students began gathering their things, the atmosphere shifted once again.
The chatter gradually died.
Heads turned toward the doorway.
A graceful woman had entered.
Lady Ishulane.
Her appearance alone seemed to pull attention toward her. Elegant robes flowed around her movements, and even the noise of shuffling feet seemed to lessen unconsciously around her.
Students whispered among themselves.
Some straightened in their seats.
Others quickly moved aside.
The crowd parted around her almost instinctively.
Near the back, Ronan looked up.
The moment his eyes landed on her—
He stood.
No hesitation.
No pause.
He slipped into the moving crowd with practised ease, stepping between groups of students before disappearing into the corridor outside.
Like water flowing through cracks in stone.
Gone.
Lady Ishulane looked around the classroom.
"Do you know where Ronan and Darius are?" she asked. "They haven't visited since they returned."
Amara glanced toward the back.
"Ronan was here a moment ago..." Her brows furrowed. "He must've left. As for Darius, I haven't seen him."
Far down the corridor, hidden behind a corner, Ronan's Phantom Clone kept walking with measured steps.
Inside, however—
Boss...
The clone let out a long internal sigh.
If you don't come back soon, I don't think I can keep this act up.
Running from family members should not be part of my duties.
That evening, beneath a pale crescent moon hanging quietly in the sky, the real Ronan stood near the edge of the flying ship.
Cold night wind brushed against his face and tugged lightly at his clothes. Below them, darkness stretched across forests and hills, broken only by scattered rivers of light.
Serenwyn.
The city slowly drew closer.
Countless lanterns flickered in the distance like stars scattered across the earth.
"We should arrive around ten in the evening," Ronan said.
Nearby, Orin adjusted the straps on his gear with an irritated expression.
"We seriously need better protective equipment."
He pulled at a torn section near his shoulder.
"Every fight leaves ours shredded."
Ronan looked over.
The cuts and damage had become obvious now that they weren't fighting anymore. Frayed fabric. Scratches. Dried blood. Dirt is clinging stubbornly to the material.
He nodded.
"Three sets aren't enough for long hunts."
Oliver crossed his arms.
"Why not buy magically enhanced gear we can wear over these?"
Darius immediately scoffed.
"Those cost a fortune."
He looked at Oliver as if he had just suggested buying a palace.
"Way out of our budget."
For a moment, only wind answered them.
Ronan looked down at the city lights below.
A small smile appeared.
"Some day."
Not grand.
Not boastful.
Just quiet certainty.
Darius glanced at him, then looked away.
He didn't say anything.
Because for some reason...
When Ronan said things like that, they never sounded impossible.
Just as expected, the ship arrived precisely at ten.
The quiet Serenwyn marketplace spread before them beneath moonlight.
The flying ship descended smoothly, and after everyone stepped off, Ronan stored it inside his ring.
The ship vanished in a pulse of light.
"Orin, Oliver," Ronan said. "We'll part ways here. We have business."
"Alright."
"Good night. See you tomorrow."
Ronan and Darius raised their hands lightly.
"Good night."
As they walked toward the Hunter's Boutique, Darius looked down at himself.
Their clothes looked miserable.
Tears lined the fabric.
Dust and grime stained nearly every surface.
He tugged awkwardly at a ripped sleeve.
"Is it okay to show up like this?"
Ronan pushed open the boutique door.
Warm air spilt out immediately, carrying traces of perfume and polished wood.
"Don't worry."
He stepped inside.
"We aren't exposing anything indecent."
He glanced back.
"Just a few minor cuts and tears."
Darius looked down at the shredded state of his clothes.
"...Minor."
The boutique remained relatively quiet at this hour.
Only a handful of customers wandered between clothing racks, speaking in low voices. Employees moved quickly around the store carrying boxes and registers, their footsteps hurried and distracted.
Behind the counter stood a middle-aged man wearing a permanent expression of irritation.
His eyes swept over Ronan and Darius.
Then over their clothes.
His face twisted immediately.
"This isn't a place for beggars," he sneered.
A gold coin flew toward them.
"Go away."
Darius froze.
The coin spun through the air.
Ronan caught it smoothly.
His fingers closed around it without changing expression.
Before he could even respond, a voice called from deeper inside the store.
"Sir!"
The man clicked his tongue irritably and hurried away.
Moments later, Elira emerged from the back.
A few loose strands of hair had escaped and clung to her forehead. She looked slightly flushed, and exhaustion sat visibly beneath her eyes.
She stopped after seeing them.
Then blinked.
"What happened to you two?"
Ronan tilted his head.
"What's with the rush?"
Elira released a long breath.
"The monthly auction is in a few days."
She rubbed her temple.
"Everyone's going insane, and somehow that became my problem."
Ronan chuckled.
"Free labour? Or are the greedy shop masters actually paying you extra?"
Elira laughed weakly.
"They're paying."
She looked toward the ceiling briefly.
"Thank the stars."
Then she looked back at him, narrowing her eyes.
"Seriously, though, what happened to you? You look like you fought a bear."
"Hunting."
Ronan's expression became slightly more serious.
"We need to see the shop master. It's urgent."
Elira frowned immediately.
"He's booked solid today. Seeing him now—"
Ronan raised a hand.
Five fingers.
"Just five minutes."
She looked at his hand.
Then at his face.
Then sighed.
"...You already decided you aren't leaving without trying, didn't you?"
Ronan smiled.
"Maybe."
Elira stared at him for another second before reaching for a registrar.
Pages flipped rapidly beneath her fingers.
Her eyes scanned across names and schedules.
Finally, she nodded.
"Alright."
She closed it.
"I think I can get you five minutes."
Ronan's expression softened slightly.
"Thank you."
This time, the gratitude in his voice carried real weight.
Because beneath the exhaustion, dirt, and ridiculous circumstances—
There were still people willing to help them.
And sometimes that mattered more than gold.