The second day at the inn began with rain.
Not a storm just a steady, patient drizzle that darkened the stone streets and made everything smell sharper. Jason noticed it when he stepped outside to dump a bucket of dirty water and felt the chill creep through his jacket.
He pulled the collar up without thinking.
Aldric was already awake, moving stools back inside from the front patio. He didn't look rushed. The man worked with the calm efficiency of someone who had learned long ago that weather could not be argued with.
"You'll be running supplies today," Aldric said as Jason came back in. "River warehouses mostly. Fewer hands when it rains."
Jason nodded. "Tell me where."
That earned him a brief glance approval, maybe.
Mira handed him a list written in tight, angular script. Jason studied it, recognizing enough of the symbols to understand quantities and goods even if some of the words lagged behind comprehension. He didn't comment. She didn't explain.
Charlotte was already gone.
Jason realized he'd started noting her absence as much as her presence. That irritated him slightly, so he ignored it and headed out.
The warehouses by the river were worse in the rain.
Mud collected in shallow pockets between stones. The air was heavy with damp wood and rot. Fewer workers meant heavier loads for those who showed up, and Jason found himself hauling crates that had made his arms ache the day before.
He welcomed it.
Not because he enjoyed pain, but because something in him wanted to test.
Not the numbers. He hadn't checked them since the night before. He didn't want to turn this into a game. Games came with expectations.
Instead, he focused on the work.
Lift. Carry. Set down. Breathe.
By midmorning, sweat soaked through his shirt despite the cold. His hands stung where splinters bit into skin. Once, his grip slipped and a crate slammed down harder than intended, sending a sharp jolt through his arms.
He hissed and steadied himself.
"Careful," one of the dockworkers muttered.
Jason nodded and adjusted.
The next crate felt marginally easier.
Not lighter. Easier.
The distinction mattered.
He didn't think about it too much ,just stored the observation away and kept working.
By the time Aldric's order was complete, Jason's arms trembled when he set the last crate down. He rested his hands on his knees and focused on breathing, counting the rhythm the way he used to during long runs back home.
One of the dockworkers tossed him a rag. "You're not bad," the man said. "For someone with no guild marks."
Jason frowned. "Guild marks?"
The man tapped his shoulder where a faint tattoo peeked out from beneath his sleeve. "Means I get priority work. You don't."
Jason glanced at the mark, then shook his head. "I'm staying where I am."
The dockworker snorted. "Suit yourself."
Jason left shortly after, coin in hand, body aching in a way that felt honest.
Halfway back to the inn, he paused in a narrow alley and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes.
He focused inward.
Status
Level: 2
Physical Capacity: 2
Endurance: 2
Coordination: 1
Endurance had changed.
Jason stared at the wet stone in front of him, rain pattering softly around him.
So it wasn't just levels.
It was… distribution.
He straightened slowly.
That night, exhaustion hit harder than before. Not the gentle tiredness of a day well spent, but the deep fatigue that settled into bone. Jason ate quietly, barely tasting the stew, and retired early.
As sleep took him, he dreamed of carrying weight that shifted shape mid-lift never heavier, just more demanding.