Vera studied her reflection. Clear silver eyes stared back, framed not by the uneven silver-gray she’d only just started growing used to, but by a sweep of raven-black hair, polished to a wet sheen so dark it caught the lamplight like feathers. The uneven fringe across her brow was still there, but the hair had been shaped and neatened—trimmed in places, layered in others—so it looked deliberate rather than unkempt. Somehow, Korrin managed to keep that rugged, slightly disordered edge she’d always carried while refining it into something sharper.

  She wasn’t sure how he’d pulled that off. But she liked it. More than she’d ever bothered liking any haircut before.

  Behind her in the mirror, the old barber was sweeping up a pale mound of silver-gray hair, humming contentedly to himself. Vera turned her head from side to side, testing different angles, absorbing the novelty of the look.

  To be entirely honest, she’d been uneasy when he first produced those scissors. Partly because of his age, partly just from the experience itself. But in hindsight, she was glad they’d come. Not only would this help disguise her, but it had shown that haircuts didn’t have to be the awkward, small-talk-riddled endurance test she remembered from home.

  For one thing, Korrin was fast—half an hour, start to finish, and twenty of those were just soaking in the dye. For another, he was good at keeping the conversation light, even drawing Serel in with questions about her likes and interests. He was eccentric, certainly, but he had a knack for making it feel natural. Vera had found herself speaking less, listening more, mentally cataloging Serel’s answers for later.

  All in all, it had been well worth it. She had asked if he had anything for concealing facial features too, but that had only earned her another of those long, strange stares before Korrin dismissed the question outright. Still, even this much helped more than she’d expected.

  Vera touched a hand to her head, running her fingers through the smooth, glossy strands. There was something about watching yourself with a new appearance like this that was just a touch dreamlike. Like one of those rare Halloweens when she’d bothered with more than a lazy costume, only to glance in the mirror and struggle to recognize herself. Technically, this black was closer to her natural color—her original hair had been a plain brown—but it still felt oddly foreign.

  With a pulse of will and Resonance, a spark of warmth swept through her body. The raven-black drained from her hair in seconds, bleeding away like ink in water, until the familiar silver-gray was back. Another pulse, and the black returned.

  She chuckled. That was… surprisingly satisfying.

  When Korrin had explained the dye, she’d thought he meant it could only be undone once. Apparently not. The oil-bound color lingered in the hair for weeks, even months, and during that time she could shift back and forth at will.

  “Mommy, it’s so beautiful!”

  Vera turned. Serel was staring at her with open wonder, eyes wide, fixated on the dark shine of her hair. She hadn’t looked away from it since the cut was finished.

  Vera’s expression mellowed slightly. She studied the girl for a long moment before Korrin’s voice cut in.

  “Now,” he declared, setting his broom aside with a clatter and shuffling back toward them, his hunch swaying. He eyed Vera’s hair, nodded in satisfaction, then turned to Serel. “The little lassie next, hmm?”

  Serel blinked, startled. “M–me?”

  “Of course! A disguise shared is a disguise strengthened!”

  Vera’s eyes widened slightly. She hadn’t exactly been subtle about her intentions, but hearing him say it aloud still made her tense.

  “Mommy…?” Serel asked, looking up at her.

  Vera was silent for a moment, then gave her a slight, reassuring smile. “Do you want to cut your hair as well?”

  The girl hesitated, then gave a small nod. “…Mmm.”

  “Alright, then.” Vera looked at Korrin. “Do her next.”

  “Same shade?”

  “Is that… ‘acceptable?’”

  “Certainly, certainly!”

  Vera pointed to her own raven hair. “What do you think, Serel? Want this one too?”

  Whatever hesitation lingered in the girl’s face gave way to sudden eagerness. “Yes! I want to look like Mommy.”

  “There you have it,” Vera said.

  “Splendid!” Korrin immediately bustled back to the counter. He measured out more dye, working the mortar and pestle with gusto. Serel watched with fascination, her small hands folded tight in her lap. When Korrin returned with his scissors, she went stiff, but the barber winked and pressed another sweet into her palm. That melted her nerves quickly enough.

  Vera sat off to the side, watching as Korrin started combing and trimming with surprising care. She found herself wondering if this was what it had been like for her own mother each time the woman watched her sit through a haircut as a child. She remembered hating it—thirty-plus endless minutes trapped in a chair while stray hairs clung to her face, itching, sticking to her clothes. She used to refuse to wear the shirt she’d had on afterward, convinced it would always itch.

  But Korrin was gentler with Serel than she remembered any barber being. Careful, mindful, patient in a way that put Serel at ease. Vera even caught herself smiling whenever the girl scrunched her nose at an errant strand, only for Korrin to brush it away with a flick before carrying on as though nothing had happened.

  He clearly had some vision for the final product, but that didn’t stop him from asking questions—what length here, what parting there—though Vera herself stayed largely quiet, not really knowing what to say. Serel answered with soft little hums or shakes of her head, the kind of uncertain noises that told Vera she was mostly going with her gut in the moment.

  Eventually, Korrin finished with the scissors and moved on to the dye. When it was all done and dried, Vera was left staring at a tiny, raven-haired version of herself. Serel’s hair fell into a neat bob just above her shoulders, framing her face with smooth, feathered ends that gave her a bright, lively look. The shine of the raven-black made her crimson-silver eyes stand out even more, wide and gleaming.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  The girl’s gaze flicked up to meet hers. “Mommy… does it look good?”

  Vera froze, breath caught in her chest. For a second she actually wondered if her heart had stopped.

  “…It looks great,” she said at last.

  And it really did. As much as Vera loved Serel’s natural silver-gray—there was something about it that felt right, felt hers—the dark color made her look glowing in another way. The cut suited her too, even if Vera could never imagine something like that on herself.

  Serel’s smile bloomed, bright and unguarded, at her words.

  Vera cleared her throat, turning toward Korrin, who was already sweeping up the new pile of silver-gray strands from the floor. “How much is it, by the way? The price?”

  “Ten gold,” he said simply.

  She paused. “That’s a lot for just a haircut, isn’t it? Is the dye that expensive?”

  “It certainly doesn’t come cheap! More for you, naturally.”

  “Maybe you should’ve told us the price before you started.”

  “Ah, but maybe you should have asked.”

  “…Point, I guess.” She rose and dug out her pouch, bringing out the ten gold.

  Korrin chuckled as he tucked the coins away, resuming his sweeping. “I wouldn’t have touched a strand if I thought the Ashborn Ascendant herself couldn’t pay.”

  “Not sure if that’s supposed to be comforting or not.” Vera stepped over to Serel, lifting the girl from her chair and earning a delighted giggle as her feet landed on the floorboards. “But why is the dye so expensive? Because of the ban?”

  “No, no, no.” Korrin shook his head. “Raven-gloss black is local. Simple. Had you chosen hemlock violet, then thatwould’ve been difficult. And costly. Twice over.” He tapped the broom against the bone floor. “Oh yes.”

  Vera and Serel lingered as he finished sweeping. When she reminded him about the records he’d mentioned, the old man gave a distracted grunt and shuffled off through the back door. The sound of stairs creaking carried faintly after him.

  They spent the next several minutes passing the time by teaching Serel how to trigger the dye. The girl squeaked with glee each time her hair shifted back and forth between black and silver-gray, though Vera had to warn her not to overdo it once they were out in public.

  Finally, Korrin returned, arms full of heavy ledgers that looked far too weighty for his bent frame. They followed him back to the lobby, where he dumped them on the counter with another grunt and began riffling through pages, his bony finger trailing lines before flipping to the next with surprising speed.

  It took a while, but eventually he found what he was looking for: accounts of festivals and celebrations Veralyth had attended, written in his own hand. Just as he’d said. All the entries were within the last ten years, but none in the last two. It confirmed that people here did remember her, and that there was written proof of it—but didn’t answer the deeper question of how much of that history was real.

  When their business concluded, Vera promised she’d be back if she ever needed another cut or dyeing. After some hesitation, she also asked him not to mention they’d been here. He waved it off, saying he hadn’t planned to, since he’d already figured out she was keeping low. Then, with a sly grin, he asked if she couldn’t hurry along and deal with the latest tribulation before it started causing trouble for his business, drawing a small laugh from her.

  Out on the street, Serel tugged her arm.

  “He was weird, Mommy.”

  “Mm, he was.”

  “But also funny!”

  Vera pulled her hood up. “Do you want to go back sometime?”

  Serel nodded.

  “Alright.”

  They set off down the street toward their next stop. Now, Vera felt less exposed than before. She’d asked Korrin where she might find gloves and other things for disguises, and to her surprise, the old man had actually lent her some. A pair of dark leather gloves that had belonged to his late wife, and a set of thick-rimmed spectacles with plain glass lenses. “The old lady insisted I needed them,” he’d said with one finger to his lips, “eyes sharp as razors or no—but always keep the missus happy!”

  The gloves fit Serel surprisingly well. Vera guessed Korrin’s wife had been a lot taller than he was, which explained both the glove size and possibly why he seemed so determined to keep her happy.

  Vera, of course, had her own gloves, but all of them were Mythic or Legacy-grade gear, flashy enough to draw more attention than her sigil-scars ever would.

  She and Serel wandered the city a while longer. This time, when Vera stopped strangers to ask for directions, no one spat or recoiled. People were still cautious, yes, but Vera had noticed that with almost everyone who wasn’t trying to sell her something. She suspected it was due to her presence as a ‘Kindled’. But at least there hadn’t been any hostility on the level of what she’d seen at the gates.

  Eventually, their steps carried them into a district that looked as though it had once been a quarry. Some of the buildings were hewn directly into the sides of a broad depression in the earth, and bonework was everywhere—more abundant here than in even the older districts they’d passed through.

  To Vera, the sight was pretty familiar. This was the Hollowstone district. One of the more popular spots for players in Marrowfen back in Ashen Legacy.

  She and Serel followed a straight road downward toward the basin’s center, where a squat, wide building anchored what resembled a plaza. Unlike the bone structures elsewhere in the city, this one was carved from darker marrow, streaked with veins of gray like fossilized lightning. Its atmosphere was heavier somehow, too, less ornamental and more utilitarian. The few people they saw going in and out looked like the kind of folk who knew how to survive.

  This was Hollowstone Table.

  Vera kept Serel close as they crossed the plaza toward the entrance. With her new hair, the spectacles, the gloves, the hood, and Serel’s presence layered on top of that, she hoped people wouldn’t recognize her.

  She also hoped there wouldn’t be any trouble.

  In the game, Hollowstone Table had been little more than a player hub. A place for picking up contracts and a little roleplay. Here, though, it was hard to say. The vibe it had going was pretty rough, after all. She didn’t want Serel straying from her side.

  They stepped inside.

  The low thrum of voices, boots scuffing stone, and the faint clatter of mugs met them. A hall stretched wide in both directions, lit by iron sconces that glowed with steady white light. At the center stood a massive table of polished marrowstone, its surface scuffed and worn smooth by years of use. Gear, vials, maps, mugs, and more cluttered the surface, while dozens of rough-looking men and women clustered around it, talking, arguing, or eating in silence.

  Vera felt it immediately. The pressure of presence. A weight she hadn’t registered when it was just Caldrin or Serel. But here, gathered in numbers, it throbbed through the air like a faint static. A mingling of Resonance and willpower that scraped along her skin.

  There were a good number of Kindled here.

  She hadn’t realized how sharp it could feel when so many were concentrated in one place, but she supposed that was how it worked in this world.

  Ashen Legacy had never had a continent-spanning organization like an Adventurer’s Guild. Beyond the Covenant of Flame, very few factions stretched across more than a single city. Guilds had been the same, as far as she knew.

  But with monsters prowling just outside the walls, cities had always needed hunters. And so the Chapters had formed. Semi-formal, sanctioned groups that were monster slayers, contract takers, and wardens of the dangerous wilds all rolled into one. Almost every city had one. Marrowfen’s Chapter was Hollowstone Table.

  Eyes turned as Vera and Serel entered. The weight of attention pressed down on them, causing Serel to cling tighter to Vera’s sleeve, shrinking under it.

  Thankfully, no one leapt up shouting ‘Ashborn Ascendant,’ and no one seemed to instantly sense that her Binding dwarfed theirs. That was something. She’d half feared her level alone might expose her here.

  Keeping Serel close, Vera skirted the central table toward a corner where the only thing resembling staff sat slouched behind a bone-carved desk, contracts pinned to the wall at his back.

  They were halfway there when a voice barked across the hall.

  “Oi. You.”

  A large man pushed up from the marrowstone table. Bald, scar cut deep across his scalp and down into his beard, shoulders broad as a doorframe. His eyes locked on them, and his hand jerked in a sharp motion.

  “What do you think you’re here for, huh?”