Graden was not a poor town.
It was worse.
It was a town pretending not to be poor.
The streets were swept, but the cracks in the stone were filled with ash. Ember lamps hung from iron hooks, glowing steady with a faint green light, but the houses behind them looked broken under quiet debt. wagons and cart passed through the main road often enough to keep the illusion alive merchants, ore brokers, minor nobles on inspection routes.
Graden was a growing town sat nestled among the rolling plains far away from one of the largest cities in all of Aeralis.
Graden has carved out its reputation as a vital town, serving as a bustling hub for weary ore wagonners hauling raw riches and city merchants navigating the long trade routes between Aeralis's major cities.
But the air carried the same smell as every other town near the industrial belts.
The smell of metals , ore and quiet desperation.
Arun walked through it without hurry.
Not because he was loud. Because he was not. Silence in a place that survived on noise made people uneasy. ake this sound connected
Amidst the clatter of iron-rimmed wheels and the haggling of merchants, his silence was at odds with the town itself which drew every eye. He didn't need to be loud to draw attention; in fact, it was his utter lack of noise that unsettled the crowd. In a town like Graden, which survived on the noise and energy of trade and the constant roar of transport wagons, such profound quietness felt less like peace and more like a warning, leaving the townspeople heavy with a creeping unease.
He walked past a row of ore traders arguing over weights, past a fruit vendor selling preserved frost-berries at double the normal price, past a group of young men showing off faint wing marks on their necks two narrow feathers glowing blue, pridefully.
Arun didn't look twice.
At the end of the street stood a tavern called The Split Anvil.
The wooden sign above the door had once been carved cleanly. Now it hung crooked.
Warm light spilled through the windows.
Arun stepped inside.
The tavern was half-full.
Travelers, Ore couriers, small time merchant.
one winged adventurers playing dice.
The smell of cheap ale mixed with smoke from an Ember shard burning in a central iron basin.
Conversations got quieter when Arun entered.
The tavern owner stood behind the counter polishing a cup that was already clean. He was broad, middle aged, with the kind of eyes that measured coin before character.
Those eyes narrowed slightly.
"You passing through?" the owner asked.
"Yes."
"Having Troubles?"
"No, Not yet atleast."
A pause.
"…Drink?"
"Something warm."
The owner poured dark liquor into a metal cup and slid it across.
Arun placed coins down without counting.
The owner noticed that too.
He left them there for a moment before sweeping them away.
Arun took a seat at the counter.
He did not drink immediately.
He listened.
The adventurers were arguing about a contract from the Winged Guild. Too expensive for a simple escort job. A caravan had been attacked outside the valley roads again.
Bandits.
Or worse.
A chair scraped beside him.
Arun didn't turn at first.
Then a curious voice spoke.
"You don't look like you belong here."
Arun glanced sideways.
The speaker looked no older than nineteen.
Slim.
Sharp-eyed.
Well dressed, too well dressed for this tavern. The fabric of his coat was fine, though slightly wrinkled. His hair was black coloured, tied loosely at the back, and his posture tried to look casual but failed.
He had been drinking.
But not heavily.
"What makes you say that?" Arun asked.
The boy shrugged. "You're not trying to look important."
"That's a requirement?"
"In Graden? Yes."
Arun almost smiled.
"What's your name?" the boy asked suddenly.
"Arun."
The boy studied him carefully, as if committing the name to memory.
"And yours?"
"…Taru."
"You're young to be drinking in a place like this," Arun said calmly.
Taru didn't hesitate. "I was kicked out."
The tavern owner glanced over.
Taru ignored him.
"Kicked out?" Arun asked.
"My family," Taru replied. "We disagreed."
"That sounds mild."
"It wasn't."
He didn't elaborate.
Arun didn't press.
Instead, he lifted his cheap cup of ale cup and took a slow drink.
Taru watched him like someone evaluating a blade before buying it.
"What are you doing in Graden?" Taru asked.
"passing by."
"That's not an answer."
"It is."
Taru frowned.
Silence settled between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable.
After a moment, Arun noticed Taru's cup was empty.
And had been for some time.
Arun placed another coin on the counter.
"For him," he said.
The owner hesitated.
Then poured.
Taru blinked.
"I didn't ask for"
"I know."
The boy went quiet after that.
They drank in silence.
Eventually Arun stood.
"I'll be leaving," he said.
Taru's eyes flicked up.
"That's it?"
"That's usually how leaving works."
Arun turned and walked toward the door.
Behind him, Taru remained seated.
But his fingers tightened around the small pouch resting near his coat.
The night air outside was cooler.
The market had thinned but not emptied. Graden did not truly sleep; it only dimmed.
Arun walked the main street once more, scanning buildings, alleyways, rooftops.
He always did this.
Patterns and exits mattered.
He went into an inn which was very busy and managed to secure a small room for the night.
It was a small, simple and clean room enough to fit one person comfortably.
No questions asked.
Hours later, long after lamps dimmed and footsteps faded, Arun stepped back outside.
He did not sleep deeply.
He never did.
As he walked toward the outskirts of town, he felt it..
A pair of observant eyes watching him though subtely.
He didn't turn.
He let it continue.
Past the last houses.
Past the final Ember lamp.
Onto the dirt road leading toward the forested ridge beyond Graden.
Only then did he speak.
"You're not subtle."
A rustle.
Then Taru stepped from behind a tree.
He looked sheepish.
But not ashamed.
"I wanted to make sure."
"Of what?"
Taru stepped closer.
His eyes sharpened.
"You're winged."
Arun's expression didn't change.
"No."
"You are."
"No."
"I saw the scanner flicker when you entered town."
Arun stopped walking.
The night wind stirred lightly.
"You were watching the gate?"
"I watch everything."
"That's not healthy."
Taru ignored the comment.
"You don't move like a normal traveler. You don't react like a normal man. And you don't drink like one either."
"That's a strange metric."
Taru stepped closer and lowered his voice.
"I can be your manager."
Arun blinked.
"…What?"
"I know contracts. Routes. Guild politics. I can negotiate. You're strong. I can see it. I have coin."
He pulled a small pouch from inside his coat.
Untied it.
Silver glinted in the moonlight.
"This was the last gift from my family," Taru said. "Take me with you."
Arun looked at the coins.
Then at the boy.
"Why?"
"Because I want to prove someone wrong."
That answer was honest.
Arun studied him a moment longer.
"I'm not winged," Arun said again.
Taru stepped closer stubbornly.
"Show me."
Arun sighed.
Slowly, he reached up and lowered his collar.
The moonlight revealed it clearly now.
Not wings.
Not properly.
A pale, incomplete pattern etched into his skin like something that had started forming and then stopped.
One faint outline.
Barely there.
The air near it shimmered almost invisibly.
"See?" Arun said. "Barely a wing."
Taru stared.
His confidence faltered slightly.
"…That's not normal."
"No."
Arun pulled the collar back up.
"Go home."
"I don't have one."
"Then find one."
Arun turned and resumed walking.
Taru did not follow immediately.
But he did not leave either.
The road narrowed as it approached the forest.
The trees here were tall and tightly clustered, branches twisting unnaturally in places where Underworld fragments had once fallen decades ago.
The night grew quieter.
Arun slowed.
He felt it now.
Not the boy.
Something else.
A low growl echoed from the darkness. Then another .Shapes moved between trees.
Four-legged beast growling. Eyes reflecting faint red.
Wild beasts but not ordinary ones.
Their skin was cracked like cooled lava.
Ember corruption.
They stepped onto the road. Blocking it.
Arun exhaled slowly.
Behind him, somewhere in the dark, Taru crouched, watching.
The first beast lunged.
Arun moved forward
His right hand lifted slightly.
The air around his fingers brightened
White flamed roared forward from his sword.
The lunging beast's claws met that white glow
howled in confusion as its forelimb vanished into glowing ash.
The second beast circled from the left.
Arun pivoted, palm brushing its side lightly.
A white arc followed his hand like a blade drawn through reality.
The beast's corrupted scales split cleanly.
Light spilled from within. Then silence.
The remaining two hesitated.
Predators sensing something wrong.
Arun stepped once.
The ground beneath his foot frosted white for a heartbeat.
The beasts charged together.
He inhaled.
And the White Flame expanded. Not outward wildly. Instead they felt Controlled and Precise.
A spiral of pale fire traced around him in a perfect circle.
When the beasts crossed it
They howled in pain like they were burning , then they collapsed soundlessly.
The forest went still and the white glow faded. Ushering back the darkness.
Arun lowered his hand.
Behind a tree, Taru slowly stood.
He stepped into the open road.
Moonlight revealed his expression, not fear instead his eyes showed triumph.
"I knew it," Taru said breathlessly.
Arun turned slightly.
"You're winged."
The word hung in the cold night air.
Arun looked at the incomplete mark beneath his collar.
Then at the boy who refused to leave.
The road ahead stretched into deeper darkness.
And for the first time that night. Arun did not immediately tell him to go home.