Morning sunlight streamed through the clean glass windows of the Arkenfall Inn.
Ravon stepped down the creaking wooden stairs, his muscles stiff but completely healed. At the front desk, Elizabeth looked up from her ledger and offered a warm, relieved smile. "Good morning, Ravon. It is wonderful to see you walking."
"Good morning," Ravon replied, stretching his shoulders. "Thank you for looking after my room."
He followed the smell of toasted bread and cooked meat into the dining hall. The room was arranged in neat, geometric symmetry, with square oak tables filling the floor. Nearly every seat was occupied by bustling, loud adventurers swapping stories over plates of eggs and ale.
Except for one.
In the far corner, isolated from the noise, Lyra sat entirely alone. She wasn't wearing her pointed hat indoors, leaving her silver hair to catch the morning light as she stared blankly out the window.
Ravon navigated the crowded room and pulled out the chair directly across from her.
Lyra's blue eyes flicked to him for a fraction of a second before returning to the window. She didn't say a word.
Ravon sat in the awkward silence, listening to the clatter of silverware around them. Finally, he cleared his throat. "What quest are we going to pick today?"
"We will see at the guild," she answered, her voice flat, still watching the street.
Ravon tried again. "What is your rank?"
"B-rank."
Another heavy silence stretched over the table. Lyra finally turned her head, resting her chin on her hand as she studied him with analytical eyes. "How is your condition?"
"I'm more than fine," Ravon said, straightening his posture. "And I'm ready to pay off my debt."
A faint, approving smirk touched the corner of her mouth. "Good boy. I like the enthusiasm."
Before Ravon could protest the patronizing praise, Elizabeth arrived with two wooden trays. She set a plate of eggs and sausage in front of Ravon, and a bowl of oatmeal in front of Lyra.
Lyra stared at the bowl. Her blue eyes narrowed into a fierce glare. "Where is my cupcake?"
Elizabeth stiffened. She looked at the ceiling, then at the floor, her face twisting into a painfully obvious grimace. "Ah. Well. Today's cupcakes are... completely finished. Yes. All gone."
"Liar," Lyra accused, picking up her spoon with a defeated sigh.
Ravon dug into his breakfast, tearing off a piece of bread. "Why are you eating alone? Where are your friends?"
"I don't have friends."
"Why—"
"Don't you know talking while eating is terrible manners?" she interrupted, taking a harsh bite of her oatmeal.
Ravon snapped his mouth shut. He chewed his bread quietly, watching her glare at her breakfast. I wonder why you don't have friends, he thought, masking his amusement behind his mug of water.
"What are you looking at?" she snapped.
"Nothing."
The Adventurer's Guild was much calmer in the morning. Lyra immediately splintered off toward the sprawling quest board, leaving Ravon to approach the reception desk.
Merry looked up, her professional smile slipping into genuine concern. "Ravon! You didn't come back for an entire week. Is everything alright?"
"I got a little injured while doing the gathering quest," he admitted, pulling the items from his leather pouch. He placed the four yellow oyster mushrooms, the bundle of red Aethergrass, and the two goblin cores on the wood.
Merry inspected the haul. "The mushrooms are in perfect condition. But..." She gently touched the crimson blades of grass. They crumbled into dry, brittle dust under her fingers. "Apothecaries require fresh ingredients. These have been sitting in your pouch for a week. They are useless."
Ravon dropped his head. "So I have to go find six more?"
"Unfortunately, yes," Merry sighed sympathetically. She scooped up the two green mana cores. "I can give you one silver coin for the scout cores right now, though."
"Better than nothing," Ravon muttered, pocketing the silver.
A heavy roll of parchment slapped onto the counter beside him.
"We are doing this one," Lyra announced.
Ravon leaned over, reading the bold ink at the bottom of the page. Reward: 24 Gold Coins. His red eyes widened. "I agree."
Merry picked up the parchment, her eyes scanning the details before she let out a sharp gasp. "Oh, boy. Lyra, this is an expedition to Mount Cryostone. This will take at least four months to complete! He is a D-rank rookie. He can't take this."
"Four months?!" Ravon choked.
"Don't freak out," Lyra ordered smoothly. "Look at the reward. It is entirely worth the time investment."
Ravon thought about the pitiful five gold, six silver, and two copper coins resting in his pouch, and the staggering life debt he owed the witch standing next to him. "But—"
"No buts," Lyra interrupted. "We are doing this."
"What about my gathering quest?"
"Just buy the Aethergrass from the market," Lyra dismissed with a wave of her hand. "It will cost you four silver at most. Submit it, take your eight silver reward, and you still make a profit."
Ravon rubbed his temples, a headache already forming. "The biggest mistake of my life was agreeing to work for you."
Lyra ignored him, turning to the receptionist. "We are officially forming a party, Merry. Give us the paperwork."
The moment the word 'party' left Lyra's lips, the ambient noise in the guild hall noticeably dipped. A harsh, whispering murmur rippled through the nearby tables of adventurers.
"The Witch's daughter is forming a party?"
"That poor boy is so unlucky..."
"She probably manipulated the kid into it. Just like her mother..."
Ravon tightened his fists, his golden core flaring slightly at the open hostility. He glanced at Lyra, but her expression was entirely unreadable. She stared straight ahead, completely ignoring the toxic whispers. Following her lead, Ravon stayed quiet.
Merry slid a thick ledger across the counter, offering Ravon a look of profound pity. "How will the party divide the rewards?"
"He will receive one-third," Lyra stated. "I will keep two-thirds."
Ravon looked at Merry, his red eyes pleading. "Help."
"Oh, boy," Merry sighed, stamping the parchment with the guild seal. "You trapped yourself in this one, Ravon. I can't do anything to save you now."
The morning air was crisp as they walked down the yellow brick road of Arkenfall.
"I don't even know where Mount Cryostone is," Ravon admitted, adjusting the strap of his sword.
Lyra stopped walking. She slowly turned her head, staring at him as if he were a particularly slow child. "Do you even know where Arkenfall is?"
Ravon's blank expression gave her the answer.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "How did you even survive traveling here?"
"I joined the guild my first day in the city, and then I spent an entire week unconscious," Ravon defended himself. "I haven't explored anything."
Lyra let out a long, long sigh. "Fine. Pay attention, because I am only explaining this once."
She pointed a finger directly east. "The Ranvee Kingdom sits on the eastern edge of the world. The Beast Forest acts as a natural border, dividing Ranvee from Arkenfall, which sits dead in the center." She swept her hand southward. "To the south is the Vermond Kingdom. The Sonya Sea flows straight between Vermond and us."
She gestured behind them. "In the southwest lies the Morvain Kingdom, and in the northwest is the Eldoria Kingdom. Those two are permanently separated by the Swamp Forest." Finally, she pointed straight north. "Above Arkenfall is the Arora Forest. And far beyond that, rising above the northern cities, is the Mount Cryostone range."
Ravon committed the mental map to memory. "Which kingdom does Arkenfall belong to?"
"None of them," Lyra said, her tone dropping into the practiced cadence of a history scholar. "Arkenfall is an independent territory. A hundred years ago, the Hero Ken defeated Arken on this exact soil. Every king and queen acknowledged the victory, declaring this city a neutral, symbolic sanctuary."
She adjusted the brim of her hat. "We depart for Cryostone tomorrow morning. The journey will take a full month on foot. Use today to pack your supplies."
"Alright," Ravon nodded.
They split at the market crossroad. Lyra headed toward the Moonroot Apothecary to secure supplies, while Ravon navigated the ringing, smoky streets toward the armory district.
He found the blacksmith shop easily, the heat of the forge radiating into the cool street.
He pushed the heavy wooden door open. Standing behind the counter, organizing a row of iron daggers, was a tanned girl with short white hair and a slightly muscular build.
Ravon froze, his mind flashing back to his magic aptitude test. "I remember you. From the church."
The girl looked up, a bright, energetic smile breaking across her face. "Oh!" She paused, then said, "Sorry, I don't remember you. By the way, I'm Morrigan. Everyone calls me Morri."
"Nice to meet you, Morri. I'm Ravon." He looked around the empty storefront. "Is the blacksmith here?"
"Papa!" Morri shouted over her shoulder, her voice echoing into the back room. "A customer is calling you!"
A heavy iron door groaned open. A staggering wave of blistering heat rolled into the room, followed by the broad-shouldered, white-bearded armorer Ravon had met before his goblin hunt. The man looked highly annoyed to be pulled away from his forge.
"Sorry to disturb you," Ravon said quickly, unbuckling his scabbard and laying his sword on the counter. "My edge chipped again."
The blacksmith crossed his thick arms, staring down at the weapon. "I told you last week, kid. That steel is a relic. It's too old. If I try to grind that chip out on the wheel, the structural integrity will fail, and the blade will snap."
Ravon's heart sank. This was Darius's sword. "Is there any way to fix it?"
The armorer scratched his thick beard, inspecting the dark, wire-wrapped hilt. "There is one way. If I coat the blade in molten Mithril and carve reinforcement runes into the fuller, it will fuse the old steel and turn it into a high-tier weapon."
A ray of hope pierced Ravon's chest. "How much will that cost?"
The blacksmith did the mental math. "Fifty-five gold coins."
"Fifty-five?!" Ravon choked. "That's impossible!"
"Mithril is incredibly rare, kid," the blacksmith defended, leaning heavily against the wood. "It's only found deep in the mining caves of Mount Cryostone. That mountain is the territorial roost of the mythical dragon, Cryovax. Only daring, stupid fools go up there. Some return. Most don't. The ones who do survive sell the raw ore at a massive premium."
Ravon's mind raced. He and Lyra were leaving for Cryostone tomorrow. "If I bring you the raw Mithril ore myself... how much will you charge for the labor?"
The armorer let out a booming, rough laugh. "If you manage to walk into Cryovax's territory, mine raw Mithril, and make it back to this counter without dying? I'll re-forge the sword for free."
Ravon met the massive man's gaze without blinking. "Next time you see me, I will have the ore. And you will fix this for free."
The blacksmith's grin faded into a look of genuine respect. "I promise, kid. Bring me the ore alive, and the labor is on the house."
The moon hung high over Arkenfall by the time Ravon pushed the brass bell of the inn. His leather traveler's bag was slung over his shoulder, packed tight with dried rations, bandages, and a fresh bundle of Aethergrass he had purchased at the market.
Elizabeth stood at the front desk. She eyed his stuffed bag. "Are you going somewhere, Ravon?"
"Lyra and I are heading to Mount Cryostone."
"Oh my," Elizabeth gasped softly. "When will you return?"
"In about four months."
Elizabeth pulled her heavy ledger across the desk, her expression turning apologetic. "In that case, you need to pay four months of rent upfront."
Ravon froze. "Why? I won't even be here."
"Because your belongings are staying in Room Twelve," she explained gently. "That means the room is officially yours. If you don't pay to hold it, I have to clear your things out so another patron can rent the bed."
Panic flared in Ravon's chest. He pulled his leather pouch open. "Elizabeth, I'm running incredibly low. After buying my travel supplies and the herbs, I only have four gold and eleven silver coins left. Can't you make an exception? Please?"
Elizabeth offered a deeply sad, helpless look. "I am so sorry, Ravon. I am just the receptionist. The owner checks the ledgers every week. If I let you hold a room without paying, I will lose my job."
Ravon closed his eyes, the harsh reality of independence crashing down on him again. He couldn't ask her to risk her livelihood for him. With a heavy, aching heart, he reached into his pouch. He pulled out four shining gold coins and four silver coins, placing them softly onto the counter.
Seven silver coins clinked pitifully in the bottom of his pouch. He was entirely broke.
"Thank you, Ravon," Elizabeth whispered, securing the coin in the lockbox.
He didn't answer, simply nodding as he carried his heavy bag up the stairs to Room Twelve.
Midnight draped the city in quiet shadows.
Ravon sat at the small wooden desk in his room. The window was thrown open, letting the freezing night air bite at his skin. He tipped his head back, staring up at the pitch-black canvas above the city smog, searching until he found the single, brilliant star shining through the haze.
I wonder if Lila is looking at it right now, he thought, a deep, hollow ache forming in his chest. I wonder if she misses me.
He pulled a blank piece of parchment and an ink quill from his bag. Dipping the feather, he began to write.
He wrote to Mira and Darius, telling them he was doing fine and eating well. He proudly announced that he had successfully joined the Adventurer's Guild and earned his D-rank badge. He wrote about the goblins in the Arora Forest—omitting the terrifying ambush—and explained that he was leaving on a grand expedition to Mount Cryostone the very next morning.
He poured his heart onto the paper, expressing exactly how much he missed the warmth of their wooden house and the smell of Mira's cooking. He promised to write a new letter every single weekend, no matter where his travels took him.
Signing his name at the bottom, Ravon set the quill down. The exhaustion of the day, combined with the lingering fatigue of his magical healing, finally dragged him under.
Resting his head against his arms, the boy who was born to protect fell into a deep, dreamless sleep at the desk, bathed in the faint light of his distant star.