The wild boar had been gnawed down to the last bone, the plates empty, the tankards half full — and only now did Alvios notice what they didn't have.
"…Um, guys?" He leaned toward Nouel and Viktoria. "Please tell me one of you is carrying more money than I am."
Nouel raised an eyebrow. "How much do you have?"
Alvios dug through his pouch, laying out three Lumen shards and a handful of fragments of lesser resonance on the table, one after another. The faint clink of the small Aether crystals sounded pitifully thin — barely enough to cover a simple meal. Worth about half a silver piece, at best, he thought grimly.
Viktoria stared at the small pile. "…Is this a joke?"
"Hey," Alvios protested, "out in the countryside, that buys you a week of bread and soup!"
"This is a port city," Nouel muttered dryly. "Trivordi. They'd charge you for breathing if they could."
At that moment, the server appeared with a friendly, but unmistakably business-like smile.
"So," she said, "did you enjoy everything?"
"Yes!" Alvios beamed. "That boar was divine. Honestly, if I ever get married—"
"—let's hope you check the bill first," Nouel cut in.
The server set a small wooden tablet down on the table. On it: the total.
All three of them looked at it at the same time.
Silence fell.
Alvios blinked. "…That's not the price. That's, uh… that's the table number, right?"
"That's the price," she replied mildly.
Viktoria swallowed. "Back home, that would've gotten me three new outfits…"
Nouel leaned back, crossed his arms, and murmured, "We're dead."
Alvios cleared his throat, attempting his best princely smile, despite not actually being a prince.
"Well, my dear lady, I imagine there's surely some kind of… diplomatic solution."
"This isn't the royal court," she grinned. "Either coin… or you help out in the kitchen."
Alvios' face fell apart. "Kitchen?!"
Viktoria suddenly lit up. "I can cook!"
"I can't," Nouel replied flatly. "But I can slice bread into perfectly even pieces."
"And you?" The server looked directly at Alvios.
Alvios pointed proudly at himself. "I'm excellent at… uh… motivating people. I can talk a soup into being delicious!"
"You can carry plates," she decided.
Half an hour of chaos followed: Viktoria, surprisingly professional in cat ears and an apron, Nouel actually slicing the bread into perfectly identical pieces — and Alvios, spilling more tankards than he delivered.
"That was completely on purpose," he muttered, after the third tankard crashed to the floor.
"Then stop doing things on purpose," Nouel growled.
In the end, the innkeeper herself stood at the table, hands on her hips.
"Alright," she finally said, visibly amused. "You've entertained me. We'll call it… even."
Alvios exhaled deeply. "So we're… free?"
"For now," she replied. "But if you ever strike it rich — remember Trivordi."
Viktoria leaned toward Alvios. "See? Worth it."
"Yeah… my pride's in ruins, but at least I'm still alive," he answered.
Nouel stood up, grabbing his bow. "If we keep eating like that, we're going to need paying jobs soon."
As if the flow of the world had been listening, Alvios' eyes landed on a wooden board by the door as they left — covered in yellowed wanted posters, bounties, and requests for help.
His finger stopped on a piece of parchment that looked a bit cleaner and fresher than the rest.
"Look at this," he said.
The notice read:
HELP WANTED
The village of Eichenruh, northeast of Trivordi, is suffering from severe illness and supply shortages. In addition, skeletons have been regularly sighted, emerging from the old grotto system nearby. Anyone able to help, please make your way there. Reward negotiable. — Village Elder Bran
Viktoria tilted her head. "Skeletons… disease… doesn't exactly sound like a vacation."
"Sounds like responsibility," Alvios said quietly.
Nouel studied the notice longer than the others. Something about the words seemed to strike a chord in him. He sighed.
"We need money. They need help. And…" He looked at Alvios. "You wouldn't leave it alone anyway."
Alvios grinned. "Exactly."
"Alright then," Nouel said. "Eichenruh. Northeast. Let's go."
"My prince," Viktoria said, raising her hand as if taking an oath, "let us show these poor people that we are heroes."
"We're not even officially a group," Nouel protested.
"Then we are now," Alvios countered. "Settled."
As they left the tavern, Alvios' gaze lingered on someone else.
The young man in the white coat — who had already stood out when they'd arrived — now stood at the bar, speaking with the innkeeper. His hair was red as a blood-moon night, his coat embroidered with golden patterns, his sword slender and refined. The royal crest gleamed on his breastplate.
The innkeeper studied him for a long moment, then said in a low voice:
"You… you're the Crimson Bolt. Twylmir Fribur. What's a noble like you doing in a place like this?"
Twylmir smiled, barely perceptibly. "Even a nobleman needs an honest beer sometimes."
"Or an answer," the innkeeper murmured.
"This time, more the latter," Twylmir replied. "I'm looking for someone."
"Who?"
His gaze hardened. "Billi the Ripper."
The innkeeper froze.
"…An outlaw who, one hundred and thirteen years ago, slaughtered a thousand soldiers in the capital, Aeridoris, purely for sport," she whispered. "They found the bodies three days later, dismembered in the side alleys… but you already know that, don't you?"
"I do," Twylmir said calmly. "I just need his description. And his current whereabouts."
"His location is unknown," she answered hesitantly, "but I can describe his appearance for you down to the last detail. I… I saw him."
Twylmir said nothing. Only his fingers tightened around the tankard.
"He wore a hat, like a musketeer's, only narrower. Two pistols at his side, both engraved with runes. A poncho with a half-cloak, a bit like those assassins from old stories… tight boots, leather holsters at the hips, and longer leather along the side — probably from a leather cuirass under his jacket. And… there was his necklace. A skull."
Twylmir nodded. "That's enough for me. Where did you see him?"
She bit her lip. "At the Deep Oasis. Five years ago. You… you're not planning to go there, are you?"
"I'm going wherever he is." Twylmir set down his tankard. "Thank you, innkeeper. I'll report your cooperation to the royal house. You'll be compensated appropriately."
He turned to leave.
"Farewell," she said quietly. "We probably won't see each other again, old friend."
But Twylmir had already vanished into the crowd.
Outside, in front of the tavern, Alvios, Nouel, and Viktoria gathered up their packs. They didn't notice the man in black — the stranger who had destroyed the chimera — step out of a side door and watch them from a distance.
The wind played with his dark cloak.
His eyes glowed briefly beneath the hood.
Then he followed them — keeping his distance.
The sun was sinking as they left Trivordi behind. The road northeast led over hills, past fields and scattered clusters of trees.
Over time, the conversation grew quieter, the footsteps heavier.
"We should make camp," Nouel finally said. "If we keep going in the dark, we'll walk straight into trouble without seeing it coming."
Alvios nodded. "Agreed. Besides…" His stomach growled. "A hero fights better on a full stomach."
They found a small clearing just off the path. A few stones, some grass, a handful of trees — and enough dry wood.
Nouel got a fire going with practiced hands, Alvios rigged up a simple tarp, and Viktoria gathered herbs and roots for a soup.
As the fire finally crackled and the sky deepened to dark blue, a familiar silhouette stepped out of the darkness.
"You've come a long way," the voice said calmly.
Alvios startled, instinctively reaching for Liberta — but lowered his hand again the moment he recognized the eyes.
Glowing white. With black, rune-like lines running down to the cheeks.
"You…" Alvios exhaled. "The man from the ship."
Viktoria straightened, her ears twitching. "You saved our lives."
Nouel eyed him skeptically. "And then just vanished."
The stranger stepped closer to the fire. The light traced the contours of his face: sharp, half-elven features, high cheekbones, eyes glowing like embers through mist. His skin carried a warm, bronze undertone, standing out even more clearly in the firelight than it would on a pureblood light elf — a heritage that didn't quite match the rest of his elven appearance. Fine lines ran across his cheeks up to his temples — pitch-black runes, their glow not light, but shadow. His robe, woven from dark, flowing silk, resembled the garb of the monks of the Ignis Ardentis order, though scorched at the edges, as if fire itself had touched its shape. His hair was ash-white, faintly windswept, catching the firelight like burnt embers caught in the wind.
He sat down slowly across from them.
"My name is Raiiko," he said quietly. "Raiiko… Shadowbrand."
The runes on his cheeks shimmered faintly, as if reacting to the word "shadow" — barely visible, yet the Aether around them seemed to vibrate, the way darkness does when it holds its breath.
Alvios repeated it quietly. "Raiiko… So you're not a ghost."
Raiiko smiled briefly. "Not that I'm aware of."
"What are you?" Nouel asked, cutting straight to it.
Raiiko looked into the fire. The flames reflected in his white eyes.
"A monk," he answered after a moment. "From a monastery called Ignis Ardentis. I've spent many years listening to fire… and learning to guide it."
Viktoria tilted her head. "So you're a… master of Ignis?"
"Some would claim that," he replied calmly. "I consider myself simply someone who's survived long enough to make mistakes — and learn from them."
Viktoria studied him with interest. "And your heritage? You don't look like an ordinary light elf — your skin has a completely different tone."
Raiiko nodded slowly. "My mother was a light elf. My father was Vermari — from the Chronal Deepwardens, native to Aetheria, where the Chrona flow runs strongest. They stand guard over the world's time nexuses… and are far superior to humans in strength, speed, and perception." He paused briefly. "From him, I suppose I inherited more than I sometimes wish I had."
For a while, no one said anything. Only the crackling of wood and the faint chirping of the night filled the silence.
Alvios studied him closely. "Why did you help us?" he finally asked.
Raiiko didn't answer right away. He let his gaze drift over each of them, one by one, as if truly seeing them for the first time.
"You," he said to Alvios, "wear that amulet like it breathes with you, and your hand rests on your sword's hilt like it's never really let go. Your turquoise eyes tell me you're still new to this world — but your gaze doesn't lie about how determined you really are. A dreamer with the grip of a fighter."
Alvios cleared his throat, embarrassed. "Uh… thanks?"
Raiiko's gaze shifted to Viktoria.
"You — the cat ears, the light armor, the blades of light and shadow. You carry Solis and Noctis in your hands. Your eyes reveal mercy… but also something you're desperately hiding behind a smile."
Viktoria flinched, glancing away for a moment. "You talk too much."
Then he turned to Nouel.
"And you… the hunter. Sand-colored hair, plain clothing, everything practical, everything purposeful. Your bow speaks for you — Ventus, Cristallum, Terra, all in one. You trust your hands more than your words."
Nouel said nothing. But his hand settled unconsciously on his bow.
Finally, Raiiko closed his own eyes, turning his head slightly aside.
"And I," he said quietly, "am someone who has seen far too many times what happens when no one steps in."
Viktoria's gaze fell on the black runes across his cheeks.
"Those marks…" she began hesitantly. "Why… do you have them?"
Alvios looked over, curious. "Right. Are those… tattoos?"
Raiiko slowly opened his eyes again. The runes on his face seemed to deepen in the fire's shadow.
"No," he said. "Not tattoos."
He pressed two fingers to one of the lines.
"These runes… are a gift. Or a curse. From someone I only know as 'Death.'"
A faint gust of wind swept through the clearing, as if the name itself had brushed against the Aether.
The runes on his face began to glow deeper — not brighter, but darker, as though even light could lose itself within them.
"Death?" Nouel repeated skeptically. "A man? A spirit?"
Raiiko gazed into the fire, and for a moment something older than any of them lingered in his eyes.
"I don't know what he is," he answered. "Only that he didn't let me die that day. He burned these marks into me — and with them, the ability to touch corrupted Aether without being consumed by it instantly."
He raised his hand, and for a single second a pitch-black spark flickered between his fingers — not light, but the absence of everything.
"He gave me the ability to speak with shadows," Raiiko said quietly. "They answer, sometimes. When I vanish… or when I leave without leaving."
For a fraction of a second, his shadow no longer fell where the fire cast it. Then everything returned to normal.
"With these runes, I can send back things that don't belong here. Like the chimera."
Viktoria shuddered. "And… are there more things like that?"
Raiiko thought for a moment — but his answer, he spoke only within himself.
Corrupted Aether… walking skeletons… a grotto, sickness. This isn't new. I've felt this before — every time the flow itself grows restless. And always, always, the same echo follows. A being that erases excess, not life. It draws things out to purify… drains the flow until nothing remains but stillness. Death calls it balance. But I call it silence. This is his signature. Death was here. Or someone carrying his mark.
Aloud, he only said, "More than I'd like."
"And why are you joining us?" Alvios asked carefully.
"Because you're heading in a direction I need to go anyway," Raiiko answered. "Where skeletons wander out of grottos and sickness spreads — that's usually where the Aether isn't as it should be either."
He looked directly at Alvios.
"And because fate is only faced together. Didn't one of you say that, earlier?"
Viktoria smiled faintly. "That was me."
"Then it seems I've chosen the right companions," Raiiko said.
The rest of the night passed in quiet conversation, broken up by long stretches of silence. They talked about food, about traveling, about the difference between villages and cities. Over what they didn't say hung an unseen shadow.
When everyone but Raiiko had finally fallen asleep, he sat by the fire a while longer, staring into the embers, and whispered into the night:
"If it's you… if you've got your fingers in this again…"
His hand brushed over the runes on his cheek.
"…this time, I'm ahead of you."
The next morning, the sky was grey but clear. The air smelled of damp earth and the promise of a long day.
"Two, maybe three more hours," Nouel estimated as they set off again. "Then we should reach Eichenruh."
The closer they got, the more noticeable the change became.
The fields were barren, many plots left fallow. The trees bore only scattered, withered leaves. In the distance, houses came into view — crooked, slightly sunken, as if the ground itself had grown tired.
As they entered the village, a smell hit them, made of sickness, old smoke, and something indefinable.
"They don't look good…" Viktoria whispered.
Children with pale faces, adults with hollow cheeks, some coughing heavily, others wearing makeshift bandages.
An older man with a grey beard and tired eyes approached them. A staff supported him, but his voice was still steady.
"Are you here about the notice?" he asked.
Alvios nodded. "We came from Trivordi. We saw your call for help. I'm Alvios, this is Nouel, Viktoria… and Raiiko."
The old man studied them for a long moment.
"I'm Bran, village elder," he introduced himself. "If you truly want to help… you're welcome here. But I won't lie to you — it's dangerous."
"Tell us what happened," Nouel said.
Bran glanced briefly toward the edge of the village, where dark cliffs and a deep hollow could be seen in the distance.
"For months now," he began, "skeletons have kept emerging from the old grotto to the north. At first just a few, then more and more. Around the same time, our supplies began spoiling long before they should have. And people are falling ill… with fevers and pains no healer understands."
Raiiko felt something tighten in his chest.
The pattern was too familiar.
"We've tried to avoid the grotto," Bran continued. "But it only gets worse. They say the Aether up there has… gone rotten."
Viktoria clenched her fists. "That's despicable."
Alvios nodded grimly. "Then we'll go to the grotto. If that's where it's coming from, we need to find it."
Bran studied them for a long moment, as if trying to gauge whether they were just talking, or would actually act. Finally, he nodded slowly.
"The Grotto of Reflection," he said. "That's what it used to be called. A place of peace, where you could hear the flow of the world. Now… it's a place of death."
He pointed them in the right direction.
"Don't get too close to the edge of the cliffs," he warned. "The air up there is heavy. And if you hear screaming…"
He stopped himself.
"…ignore it. It isn't real."
Alvios felt a cold shiver run down his spine.
"We'll come back," he said. "With a solution."
"Or not at all," Nouel muttered, but so quietly that only Raiiko heard him.
They left the village, their eyes fixed on the dark cliffs jutting from the land like broken teeth.
The path to the grotto led them up a steep trail. The higher they climbed, the heavier the air grew. A sickly-sweet, rotten smell hung in it, as though something were decaying somewhere unseen.
At last, they stood before it.
The entrance gaped like an open maw in the rock. Black shadows clung to the walls, even where the light still touched the edges. A cold breath swept toward them, as if something deep inside were exhaling.
"Great idea," Nouel muttered. "Really. Outstanding heroics."
Viktoria swallowed, drawing her blades.
"We're here together," Alvios said. "And we're walking out together."
Raiiko stood still for a moment, listening.
Deep within, he sensed a familiar, rotten vibration.
He thought only one word:
You again.
Then he said:
"Stay close together. And whatever you hear — don't believe all of it."
Together, they took their first step into the darkness of the grotto.
The Aether within stirred —
like something that had slept a long time,
and was now slowly opening its eyes.