The wind howled across the elevated plains.
It wasn't the violent, suffocating wind of the dungeon depths, nor the distorted currents of collapsing Axiom—but honest wind, rolling freely across open land. It brushed against my skin and tugged at my cloak as if to remind me that the world was still vast, still indifferent.
Before us stretched an endless expanse of grass, swaying gold beneath the dying light of evening. The plains dipped and rose like a sleeping giant's breath, and far beyond them—past scattered towns and distant windmills—stood something unmistakable.
A bastion.
No… the bastion.
Towering walls of reinforced stone and Axiom-reinforced metal rose toward the sky, crowned with spires that gleamed faintly even at this distance. Sigils burned dimly along its perimeter, forming a protective lattice visible only to those who knew how to look.
The Bastion City of the Mythril Empire.
On the Assembia Continent.
Not Yrith Continent, where Sunspire sits.
My breath left me slowly.
"…We weren't sent back," I muttered.
The realization sank in like cold water. Sunspire—my home, my prison, my gallows—was now separated from me by thousands of miles of hostile land.
The execution ground. The dungeon mouth. Lord Marius.
All of it… out of reach.
For now.
I shifted my stance, the girl still resting against my back, her weight lighter than it had any right to be. Awe warred with dread in my chest. I had survived the dungeon. I had escaped death itself.
And yet—
How was I supposed to reach Sunspire again?
How was I supposed to exact revenge from here?
A soft voice broke the silence.
"Why dost thou tremble so?"
I glanced back at her.
The crystalline-haired girl watched me from over my shoulder, her expression unreadable, eyes reflecting the fading sky. Even now, wrapped in that old, ill-fitting cloak, she looked painfully out of place—like a fragment of another era forced into the present.
"We're… far," I said carefully. "Much farther than I expected."
She tilted her head.
"Thou art troubled that the land beneath thy feet bears a different name?"
I let out a short breath. "It's another continent. That's not a small detail."
She regarded the horizon, unbothered.
"Yet thou wert not shaken when I named myself divine."
I stepped forward,
—and froze.
My injured foot touched the ground.
No pain.
I blinked.
I pressed my weight down deliberately. Still nothing. No dull throb. No backlash. Not even stiffness.
Healed.
"…I didn't cast anything," I murmured.
I turned slowly, eyes narrowing as I looked at her.
"You did something."
She did not deny it nor did she explain.
There had been no chanting. No rune circles. No visible Axiom fluctuation. Healing magic—real healing magic—required structure, preparation, cost.
This hadn't.
Unease crawled up my spine.
But the sun was sinking fast, and night was already beginning to bleed into the sky.
"We should move," I said at last. "Before it gets dark."
She studied me for a moment, then nodded once.
We descended the slope toward the nearest town.
—
The settlement was alive.
Stone-and-wood buildings lined packed dirt roads, lanterns glowing softly with embedded Axiom crystals. The architecture was unmistakably Assembian—practical, fortified, yet warm. Wheat fields bordered the town's edge, their stalks rustling in the breeze. Windmills creaked lazily, blades cutting slow arcs through the dusk.
People moved everywhere.
Merchants closing their stalls. Farmers guiding carts home. Adventurers—real ones—laughing loudly as they clinked mugs and swapped exaggerated tales.
Normalcy.
It almost hurt to see.
I approached a passerby, an older man with sun-darkened skin and a cart full of sacks. Switching languages came easily—old habits from a life that no longer existed.
"Pleasant evening," I said in Assembian Language. "May I ask where the nearest inn is?"
He smiled. "Down that alley. Turn left—can't miss it."
Before I could thank him, the girl spoke.
"Gratitude be upon thee, steward of the road. May thy harvest know abundance and thy line endure unmarred by blight."
The man froze.
Slowly, he turned his head, eyes wide, staring at her like she'd just spoken a dead language—which, in a way, she had.
"…Eh?"
I coughed. "A—ah! We're leaving now. Thank you, sir."
I walked briskly away, pretending very hard not to notice the confused stare burning into my back.
Once we were out of earshot, I muttered, "You can't talk like that."
She blinked. "I spoke with courtesy."
"You spoke like a tomb inscription," I hissed. "For now—pretend you're mute."
She considered this.
Then nodded.
At least she listened.
—
The inn stood at the corner of the alley, warm light spilling from its windows. A carved wooden sign swung gently above the door.
The Gilded Thistle Inn
I pushed inside.
"Welcome to the Gilded Thistle," the receptionist said cheerfully. "How may I help you?"
I helped the girl off my back and stepped forward.
"How much for a roo—" I paused, glanced at her. "…Two rooms. Separate."
The receptionist nodded. "Standard, upper, or high-cost?"
"Two standards. Two weeks."
She tapped numbers on a crystal slate. "That'll be two silvers."
I reached into my pockets.
Once.
Twice.
Nothing.
"…Ah," I said weakly. "Hehehe."
Her smile sharpened. "Is there a problem?"
"Well. Yes. Slightly. We don't have money."
Her eyes narrowed.
"But," I hurried, "I was hoping this might suffice."
I pulled out a pouch.
Axiom crystal cores spilled into my palm—greens and blues, faceted and glowing faintly.
The receptionist leaned in.
Looked.
And promptly fainted.
"M-Madam?!" I panicked, rushing forward.
She snapped upright, grabbed my cloak with both hands, eyes wild.
"Kid," she whispered fiercely, "do you have any idea what this is worth?!"
"…A few rooms?"
"You could buy a house with this!"
"A house?!"
She nodded violently.
The girl beside me spoke, carefully—forcing the words into something resembling modern speech.
"We have… reasons."
The receptionist stared at her. Then at me.
"…You didn't steal this, did you?"
"WHAT? No! No no no!"
A long pause.
Then she smiled—dangerously polite.
"Forgive my suspicion. We'll upgrade your accommodations. Duration… we'll determine later."
She slid a key across the counter.
"Room 403. Enjoy your stay."
I blinked. "I thought two—"
"That room has two bedrooms. And a living area."
She winked.
"A-ahh…Thank you."
—
Room 403 was absurd.
A living room greeted us—soft sofa, warm crystal lighting, potted flowers, even a small veranda overlooking the street. Two doors led to separate bedrooms.
I stared.
She stared.
"…I'll take this one," I said, opening the left door. "You take the other."
"I understand."
I set my things down, then returned to the sofa and sank into it, exhaustion finally crashing over me.
...I couldn't rush Sunspire.
I couldn't challenge a city, a magistrate, and a house alone.
Not yet.
I needed knowledge. Power. Position.
And above all—
Time.
I looked out the window, stars beginning to dot the sky.
Tomorrow, I would begin again.
Not as a noble.
Not as an heir.
An exile with nothing left to lose.