After a good night's rest, Kieran and Jasmine left the inn and headed back out into the city. Jasmine hadn't departed for her survey run yet, so they ended up stepping out around the same time. Immediately, they heard the sounds of players, loud and rambunctious. The argument nearby had reached its predictable stage.
"You're telling me I need treated leather, not regular?"
"That's what the schematic says."
"That's stupid. It's just a strap."
The NPC shopkeeper waited behind the counter, arms folded loosely, gaze unfocused in the way of someone who had learned patience not through virtue, but repetition. He did not interrupt. He did not correct them. He simply waited for the argument to burn itself out.
Jasmine glanced over, then back at Kieran. "You ever think the system does this on purpose?"
He didn't answer immediately. His attention lingered on the shopkeeper instead, on the stillness behind the man's eyes. Not passive. Just confident that time would resolve the issue faster than explanation.
"Encourages friction?" Kieran said at last.
"Filters people," Jasmine replied.
He considered that, then shook his head slightly. "Or it just refuses to compensate for impatience."
She smiled, small and crooked. "You always make it sound less intentional than it probably is."
"Intent implies concern," he said. "I don't think the system cares how we feel about it."
They moved away from the shop as the argument continued without them, voices rising and falling in familiar, unproductive loops.
They stopped near a stone overlook where the town sloped away into open land. Beyond Ashfall's outer wall, fields rolled outward in uneven waves, broken by dirt roads that threaded toward the horizon. Some were wide and well-traveled. Others narrowed quickly, fading into grass and memory.
"I'm heading out soon," Jasmine said. "There's an Arcanium here that I want to join, I heard the registration is difficult but I'm confident that I'll pass."
He nodded once. "Then you should go."
She hesitated, glancing at him sidelong. "You never ask people to stay."
"I don't ask questions I don't need answers to."
"That's one way to live," she said, not unkindly.
"It's efficient."
"Well mister efficient, I'll see you around. The next time you see me, I'll be a master of the elements." She winked at him as she separated from him.
"Good luck," He called after her as she folded back into the movement of the town, her presence dissolving naturally into the larger rhythm of Ashfall.
Kieran remained at the overlook a moment longer, letting the settlement settle into his understanding.
The sunlight still pressed faintly against him, a steady resistance rather than pain. A reminder that time mattered here. That night wasn't just aesthetic—it was advantage.
He came across a merchant corridor next, a wide street lined with stone-fronted shops and hanging signs etched with symbols rather than words. Some glowed faintly. Others were dark, enchantments burned out or deliberately suppressed.
Kieran felt the attention before he identified its sources. Not curiosity. Evaluation.
A man outside a leatherworker's shop tracked him briefly, fingers brushing the hilt of a tool knife before falling away. Across the street, a woman in a long coat marked with a faded emblem glanced up from her ledger, her gaze lingering a fraction longer than necessary. Blade. Boots. Posture.
Faction indexing. He decided.
Ashfall wasn't neutral because it lacked power. It was neutral because power overlapped here, and none of it wanted to be the first to disrupt the balance. That meant records. Quiet tallies. Names written without consequence—yet.
He turned down a narrower street that curved instead of running straight. Less traffic. More permanence. Stone walls bore shallow carvings worn smooth by time, not vandalism. Trade marks. Old affiliations. Family names that no longer meant anything, but had once mattered enough to carve into stone.
The town remembered even when its people didn't.
Two NPC guards stood near the mouth of an alley ahead. Their armor bore no heraldry, but it was well maintained. When Kieran approached, one shifted his stance—not blocking him, just adjusting the angle.
"Evening," the guard said.
"Evening," Kieran replied, inclining his head slightly.
"Traveling far?"
"Far enough."
A pause. Then a nod. No escalation. No demand for explanation. They hadn't been checking for weapons. They'd been checking intent.
Heading back to the market, he finally remembered that he had money. He hadn't meant to ignore his loot, but the realization still surprised him. A quiet accounting later, he stood with a clear figure in mind.
Gold: 1034
Not wealthy. But enough.
He moved through the stalls more carefully this time, attention tuned not to volume but to inconsistency. Most carts were built for Ashfall's streets—broad wheels, reinforced rims, weight balanced for stone.
One cart wasn't.
The wheels were narrower. Axles reinforced. Built for roots and uneven ground. That was the first thing Kieran noticed. Not the goods. Not the vendor. The cart itself didn't belong here. It had been brought here because it needed to be. The goods confirmed it. Treated cord. Chalk bundles. Sealed jars. No maps. Armor. Weapons.
Kieran stopped in front of the table.
The vendor didn't look up, shuffling through mismatched goods with the calm of someone accustomed to being overlooked. "Take your time," he muttered. "Most of this came from… questionable sources."
After a moment of Kieran examining the goods, the merchant began to get impatient. "You're blocking the stall," the vendor said mildly, not looking up. "Either you want something or you don't."
Picking out a piece of armor, Kieran laid it out to examine before he took a moment before putting it on.
Dark, matte layers of treated hide overlapped in shallow segments, each piece narrow enough to flex independently. Beneath the outer layer, a fine mesh caught the light at certain angles, metal thin enough to move like fabric but dense enough to matter.
The inside was lined with something softer, pressure-distributing rather than padded.
When he pulled it on, the fit adjusted subtly—not tightening, just settling. Weight distributed across his shoulders and core instead of hanging from any one point. He twisted, bent, dropped his stance. The armor followed without drag, firming only when his movement stopped abruptly. Good armor for someone who expected to be hit—and keep advancing.
A translucent pane surfaced at the edge of his vision.
--------------------------
EQUIPMENT EQUIPPED
Type: Medium Armor (Hybrid)
Slot: Chest
Weight Class: Flexible Medium
Armor Rating: +42
Durability: High
Bonuses:
• +6% Physical Damage Mitigation
• +8% Slashing / Piercing Resistance
• +5% Stamina Regeneration while moving
Passive Effects:
• Adaptive Bracing — Armor stiffens briefly on impact, reducing damage from sudden force.
Class Synergy Detected: Rogue
Combat Style Compatibility: Close-range / Sustained Engagement
----------------------------------------
The panel faded.
Kieran rolled his shoulders once more. The armor stayed quiet, obedient, ready.
"Yeah," he murmured. "This'll do."
"180 gold if you want it." That was answer enough.
He paid without haggling, turning to walk away, but then something at the edge of the display made Kieran pause. Bracers. Thin metal, darkened by age. No runes. No glow. No ornamentation. Utterly forgettable.
Except—
A faint pulse brushed against his awareness. Resonance. Bloodline recognition, subtle and instinctive.
He touched one bracer with a fingertip. It warmed instantly—just a breath of heat, like exhaled air over skin.
The merchant looked over. "Oh. Those." He scratched his chin. "Came in a bundle from a traveler who didn't come back. I can't get them open. They don't fit right either. Don't know what they do."
"They're not broken," Kieran said.
"Maybe not," the man conceded. "But they're useless to me. Some items wake up for the right hands. Some never do."
Kieran didn't respond.
The faint pulse traveled through his palm—recognizing him, not requesting him. Waiting. Expectant.
He felt his blood pressure shift, subtle as breath, like his physiology adjusted around silent potential.
The merchant shrugged. "If you want them, 120 gold. I'm cutting that price because I can't justify keeping something I can't sell."
Kieran studied the bracers a moment longer. Functional metal. Balanced weight. Hidden lines beneath the surface—too shallow to be decoration, too deliberate to be random.
Old. Misunderstood. And unmistakably tied to his nature.
He set the gold down.
The merchant blinked. "You're sure? I don't offer refunds if they turn out to be ornamental."
"They won't."
Kieran picked them up. The metal adjusted to his grip, pulse syncing with his heartbeat. Adaptive potential meeting a compatible vessel.
He slid them onto his forearms. They tightened perfectly.
A quiet notification flickered:
----------------------------------
Item Acquired: Adaptive Vampiric Daggers (Bracer Form)
Passive ability:Dual state
This item has forms, bracer form and dagger form.
Affinity Recognition: Confirmed
This item will respond only to Vampire physiology.
Awakening Requirements: Unmet
------------------------------------
He stepped away from the stall. Behind him, the merchant muttered, "Huh. Guess they finally found a home."
Kieran didn't look back. The bracers rested against his skin like a quiet promise. A tool shaped for him.