Sei didn’t remember sitting down.

  One moment he was standing near the shattered window, watching ash drift where banners once hung, and the next his back pressed against cold stone, knees drawn in too close, hands clenched so tightly his nails bit skin.

  They wouldn’t stop shaking.

  He flexed his fingers once. Twice. The tremor faded just enough to lie to him.

  The room smelled wrong.

  Not blood—not anymore—but the memory of it lingered, metallic and stale, clinging to the air the way smoke clung to cloth. Every scrape of boots outside the chamber made his shoulders tighten, muscles bracing for impact that never came.

  He swallowed.

  It’s over, he told himself.

  His body didn’t listen.

  A shadow fell across him. Not sudden. Not threatening.

  Measured.

  “You’re still here.”

  Eva Brimholde’s voice carried no judgment. Just observation.

  Sei looked up. She hadn’t removed her armor yet. One shoulder plate was dented inward, the edge scorched black. A thin line of dried blood traced along her jaw, disappearing beneath the collar.

  “I didn’t mean to sit,” he said. The words came out too fast, like an apology he wasn’t sure he owed. “I just—”

  “I know.”

  She crouched in front of him, close enough that he could see the faint cracks in her gauntlets, repairs layered over older ones. A soldier who didn’t replace what still worked.

  For a moment, neither of them spoke.

  Outside, voices carried—hoarse, exhausted, alive.

  Eva straightened. “You can’t stay inside the castle.”

  Sei frowned faintly. “I wasn’t planning to—”

  “You weren’t planning at all.” Her tone wasn’t harsh. It was precise. “And if you stay here, your mind will tear itself apart trying to make sense of things it can’t yet hold.”

  That landed harder than any blow he’d taken.

  She extended a hand.

  “Come,” Eva said. “We train.”

  The training yard had survived the siege by accident, not design.

  One wall leaned at a crooked angle where a projectile had struck and failed to breach. The ground was packed dirt, darkened by water and something else that had soaked in too deeply to wash away.

  Eva tossed him a blade.

  It wasn’t ceremonial. No jewels. No glow.

  Just steel. Balanced. Worn smooth where countless hands had held it before his.

  Sei caught it on instinct, fingers closing around the grip without thought.

  “Show me how you stand,” Eva said.

  He hesitated, then set his feet the way he thought they should be. Shoulders squared. Weight centered.

  Eva stepped forward and nudged his ankle with the tip of her boot.

  He stumbled.

  “Wrong,” she said calmly. She adjusted his foot an inch outward. “Again.”

  They went through it again.

  And again.

  His stance improved. His breathing didn’t.

  Sweat gathered beneath his collar, ran down his spine in slow, irritating lines. His arms began to ache—not sharply, but deep, the kind of burn that settled into muscle and refused to leave.

  Eva didn’t raise her voice.

  “Again.”

  He parried late. Felt the shock run up his wrist.

  Again.

  His grip slipped. He corrected it.

  Again.

  Sei’s thoughts raced ahead of his body—he saw the angle, read the movement, knew where the blade should be—

  —and still missed.

  Frustration flared hot in his chest.

  Move.

  Something answered.

  For half a breath, green light coiled along his knuckles—thin, sharp, wrong. Like a blade that hadn’t decided what it wanted to be yet.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Sei sucked in a breath and the light vanished.

  His heart hammered.

  Eva’s eyes flicked to his hand.

  She said nothing.

  That silence pressed heavier than a reprimand.

  They left the castle through a side gate, not the grand entrance.

  The city opened around them—broken stone, scorched wood, people moving with purpose born of necessity. Soldiers hauled debris alongside civilians. A woman wrapped bandages with shaking hands. A boy carried a bucket nearly as large as he was, jaw clenched in stubborn defiance.

  Sei slowed without realizing it.

  His gaze caught on details he couldn’t ignore: uneven breaths, pale lips, wounds cleaned too quickly and stitched too poorly. Injuries that would fester if left alone.

  Eva didn’t rush him.

  The Adventurer’s Guild stood at the edge of the square, broad and squat, its doors scarred by age and use. The air inside smelled of oil, iron, sweat.

  Conversation dipped when Eva entered.

  Not silence. Respect.

  “That’s Brimholde,” someone murmured.

  No one said it louder than that.

  Sei stood half a step behind her, suddenly aware of how small he felt.

  Eva didn’t announce him. Didn’t name him.

  “He’s new,” she said to the guild clerk. “He’ll learn.”

  A few eyes flicked his way. Curious. Appraising. Then most looked away.

  It stung more than hostility would have.

  Eva took a slip from the board—plain, unremarkable—and placed it in his hand.

  “This isn’t for the king,” she said quietly. “This is for you.”

  Sei looked down at the paper.

  For the first time since he’d been summoned, the world didn’t feel like it was closing in.

  Just… waiting.

  Sei didn’t read the mission slip right away.

  He folded it once, then again, feeling the texture of the paper beneath his thumb. Rough. Cheap. Used by hands that didn’t expect to live long enough to keep things pristine.

  Eva was already moving.

  “If you’re going to stare at it,” she said, not looking back, “do it while you walk.”

  The guild door opened with a groan of old hinges. Outside, the city noise rushed in—voices, metal on stone, the distant crack of something being set back into place. Life refusing to wait.

  They headed toward the outer districts.

  Sei finally unfolded the slip.

  No flourish. No heroic phrasing.

  A name. A location just beyond the eastern road. A note scrawled at the bottom in hurried ink.

  Livestock missing. Two injured.

  That was it.

  “That’s… it?” he asked.

  Eva nodded. “For now.”

  He glanced up. “You’re coming with me.”

  “I am.”

  Not I’ll protect you.

  Not I’ll intervene if things go wrong.

  Just fact.

  They walked in silence for a while.

  The farther they moved from the castle, the less intact the streets became. Patches of stone gave way to dirt, then to rutted paths carved by carts and boots. Houses leaned close together, some patched with mismatched wood and cloth, others left open to the air where walls had collapsed.

  A man sat on a crate outside one such home, one leg stretched stiffly in front of him. His breathing was shallow, uneven.

  Sei slowed.

  Eva didn’t stop him this time.

  Sei knelt, careful, hands hovering before touching. The man flinched anyway.

  “It’s alright,” Sei said quietly. His voice came easier here, grounded by familiarity. “I won’t hurt you.”

  The man stared at him, then at Eva behind him, recognition flickering across his face.

  “You’re with her,” he muttered. Not a question.

  Sei pressed two fingers gently against the man’s wrist. The pulse was weak, irregular.

  “How long?” Sei asked.

  “Since the wall fell,” the man replied. “Didn’t want to be in the way.”

  Sei exhaled through his nose.

  Of course you didn’t.

  He worked carefully—cleaned what he could, stabilized what he couldn’t. No magic. Just hands and judgment and restraint.

  When he finished, the man grasped his sleeve with surprising strength.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Sei nodded, unsure what to do with the knot tightening in his chest.

  They moved on.

  The outskirts were quieter.

  Too quiet.

  Tall grass bent beneath a light wind. Fence posts leaned, some snapped clean through. A smear darkened the dirt near one enclosure—blood, dried too quickly to soak in fully.

  Sei’s stomach tightened.

  Eva crouched, examining the ground. “Tracks,” she said. “Dragged weight. More than one.”

  “Animals?” Sei asked.

  “Possibly.” She stood. “Possibly not.”

  They followed the trail a short distance before the sound reached them.

  A low, panicked bleating. Cut short.

  Sei broke into a run without thinking.

  Eva swore softly and followed.

  They reached the clearing just as a shape burst from the brush—thin, hunched, clutching something that bled and kicked weakly in its grasp. It froze when it saw them.

  Eyes too bright.

  Breathing too fast.

  It wasn’t human.

  Sei barely registered that fact before the creature lunged.

  Eva moved first—shield up, blade flashing. The impact rang out sharp and loud.

  The creature reeled back, snarling.

  Sei’s heart hammered.

  Think.

  The world narrowed.

  He saw angles. Distances. Blood loss.

  He stepped forward.

  The creature turned toward him, eyes locking on his hands.

  For a split second, fear flashed across its face.

  Something coiled beneath Sei’s skin—green, eager, whispering.

  No.

  He forced it down.

  Instead, he shouted. “Stop!”

  The word rang out, sharper than he expected.

  The creature hesitated.

  That was enough.

  Eva struck—clean, decisive. The creature collapsed, motionless.

  Silence rushed in.

  Sei stood there, chest heaving, staring at his hands.

  They were steady.

  Too steady.

  Eva wiped her blade and glanced at him. “You could’ve used it,” she said quietly.

  “I know.”

  “And you didn’t.”

  Sei swallowed. “I don’t know if that’s good or bad yet.”

  Eva met his gaze.

  “Neither,” she said. “It’s a choice.”

  They turned back toward the road as the wind stirred the grass again.

  The mission slip crinkled in Sei’s pocket.

  It felt heavier now.

  They didn’t speak on the walk back.

  The city felt different now—less distant. The sounds sharper. Every shout, every clatter of stone carried a memory he hadn’t earned but couldn’t ignore.

  The guild hall was louder than before.

  Laughter from one corner. An argument over coin in another. Someone slammed a mug down hard enough to crack the wood.

  Eva led him straight to the counter.

  The clerk glanced up, eyes flicking from Eva to Sei, then to the faint stains still darkening the edge of Sei’s sleeve.

  “Report,” he said.

  Eva didn’t embellish.

  “Tracks beyond the eastern road. One hostile. Livestock lost. Two injured civilians stabilized.”

  The clerk made quick notes. “Casualties?”

  “No civilian deaths.”

  A pause.

  “No adventurer injuries?”

  Eva shook her head.

  The clerk finally looked at Sei again. Really looked.

  “And you?” he asked.

  Sei hesitated.

  He thought of the creature’s eyes. The way it froze. The pull beneath his skin, waiting.

  “I didn’t kill it,” he said.

  The guild hall didn’t go quiet—but something shifted.

  A few nearby conversations slowed. Someone snorted softly.

  The clerk raised an eyebrow. “You hesitate often?”

  Sei met his gaze. “No.”

  That earned him a longer look.

  The clerk nodded once and slid a small pouch across the counter. Coin clinked softly inside. “Payment for services rendered.”

  Eva didn’t touch it.

  “This one counts,” she said.

  The clerk marked something on the ledger. “It does.”

  He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, “You’ll get harder assignments soon enough.”

  Sei took the pouch. It felt heavier than it should have.

  As they turned to leave, a voice called out from one of the tables.

  “Hey.”

  A broad-shouldered adventurer leaned back in his chair, eyes sharp, amused. “You freeze up like that again, someone’s gonna die.”

  Sei didn’t look away.

  “Maybe,” he said. “But not today.”

  The man barked a laugh. “Fair enough.”

  Outside, the air felt cooler.

  Eva exhaled slowly. “You did well.”

  Sei frowned. “I didn’t finish it.”

  Eva stopped walking and faced him.

  “You didn’t let something else finish it for you,” she said. “That matters.”

  Sei looked down at his hands again.

  They were steady.

  He didn’t know how long that would last.

  Behind them, the guild door closed with a dull, final thud.