The Wilds Guild hall felt hollow.

  The heavy wooden doors still opened and closed. Boots still tracked dirt across the stone floor. Tankards still clinked against tables.

  But something vital was missing.

  Osbin’s laughter.

  It had once filled the hall like thunder — loud, unapologetic, alive. Now the long oak table he favored stood half-occupied, a dent from an old arm-wrestling match still carved into its surface like a scar.

  The guild members spoke in hushed tones.

  “…doesn’t sit right with me…”

  “…S Rank just gone…”

  “…he looked like a kid…”

  “…kids can still kill…”

  Rin sat at the table, shoulders slumped, fingers loosely curled around an untouched mug.

  She had not changed out of her uniform.

  Her brown eyes were unfocused, fixed on the table’s grain as if answers might be hidden in its cracks.

  Her mind replayed the exile over and over.

  Lars’ bowed head.

  His quiet acceptance.

  He hadn’t pleaded.

  He hadn’t argued.

  He hadn’t even tried to defend himself.

  That part hurt the most.

  Across the hall, one of the older guild members leaned forward, voice low but firm.

  “I’m telling you, it had to be while Osbin was asleep.”

  A few nearby heads turned.

  The man continued, emboldened by the lack of challenge.

  “There’s no way that boy takes Osbin head-on. None. Only explanation is he struck when Osbin wasn’t expecting it. Maybe when he was resting.”

  Another added, “Osbin never would’ve let his guard down in a fight.”

  “Exactly.”

  The words spread quietly across the table.

  Rin’s hand tightened around the mug.

  Her jaw clenched.

  “He never confessed.”

  The hall fell silent.

  Her voice wasn’t loud — but it carried.

  The man looked toward her, surprised. “Rin, we’re just trying to make sense of it.”

  “He never confessed,” she repeated, eyes sharp now.

  “He didn’t say he did it. He didn’t brag. He didn’t justify it. He didn’t run.”

  The air felt heavier.

  “He accepted exile.”

  The last words came softer.

  More personal.

  The man shifted uncomfortably. “Well… he didn’t deny it either.”

  Rin’s eyes flashed.

  “He said he didn’t remember.”

  “And that’s supposed to be comforting?”

  Her shoulders fell suddenly, the anger draining as quickly as it had risen.

  She lowered herself back into her seat and rested her forehead against her folded arms on the table.

  “He’s not that kind of person…”

  Her voice was barely a whisper now.

  Memories surfaced uninvited.

  The way Lars had blushed when teased.

  The way he apologized when he thought he had disappointed someone.

  The way he asked questions about the world — eager, curious, almost innocent.

  Somewhere in her heart, stubborn and aching, she believed he was innocent.

  And that belief shattered her more than certainty would have.

  ?

  Raiyo’s Office

  Upstairs, Guild Master Raiyo stood by the window of his office, a glass in his hand.

  The sunlight streamed in through the tall window, illuminating the dust floating in the air.

  He rarely drank.

  Gallant stood before him, posture straight, expression carefully neutral.

  “The informant hasn’t reported,” Raiyo said without turning.

  “No,” Gallant answered evenly.

  Raiyo’s jaw tightened.

  “He was to observe.”

  “Yes.”

  “And yet Osbin is dead.”

  Gallant said nothing.

  Raiyo turned slowly, red hair catching the light, beard casting shadow across his face.

  “How does a boy kill Osbin Durnhart?”

  The question wasn’t directed at Gallant alone. It hung in the air, unanswered.

  “Did Lars show hostility?” Raiyo asked.

  “No.”

  “Resentment?”

  “No.”

  “Fear?”

  “Yes,” Gallant admitted quietly. “But not malice.”

  Raiyo’s eyes narrowed.

  “Osbin does not fall easily.”

  Silence stretched.

  “Did he ever act unstable?” Raiyo pressed.

  Gallant shook his head.

  “He asked questions. He trained. He listened.”

  Raiyo took a slow breath.

  “This does not align.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Gallant hesitated before speaking again.

  “I will speak to my sister.”

  Raiyo waved him off, lost in thought.

  “Find answers.”

  Gallant bowed slightly and exited.

  Behind him, Raiyo remained still, staring into the distance.

  He knew something was missing.

  He just didn’t know what.

  ?

  The Open Plains

  The wind felt different beyond Solaris.

  Less restrained.

  More honest.

  Lars walked north along the dirt trail, the city walls shrinking behind him until they became nothing more than faint shapes against the horizon.

  He did not look back.

  His satchel rested against his shoulder, light but necessary.

  No coin.

  No weapons.

  No gauntlets.

  He flexed his hands unconsciously.

  They felt exposed.

  Naked.

  “I don’t have money or food,” he muttered to himself.

  His stomach responded with a quiet growl.

  “I’m going to get hungry soon.”

  The wind carried his voice away.

  He remembered Rin’s words.

  “Eat well when you can. You never know when your next meal will be.”

  Her face appeared briefly in his thoughts.

  Warm.

  Concerned.

  He straightened his posture.

  “I’ll hunt.”

  Just like the Wilds Guild.

  He stepped off the main trail, scanning the tall grass and shrubs carefully.

  Movement.

  Low.

  Subtle.

  He crouched.

  The grass shifted again.

  He expected an animal.

  Instead—

  A small blue blob bounced lightly between the stems.

  Translucent.

  Round.

  Jelly-like.

  It pulsed faintly from within.

  Lars blinked.

  “…Slime jelly.”

  He almost laughed.

  Osbin’s teasing voice echoed in memory.

  “Get used to it, boy.”

  The slime wobbled aimlessly, unaware of his presence.

  He lowered himself into a squat, studying it closely.

  It seemed harmless.

  Empty.

  Almost thoughtless.

  He gathered a thin layer of Ki around his fingertip and flicked it.

  The slime rippled violently, its shape distorting and thinning where he struck it.

  It didn’t retaliate.

  It simply sagged, slowly reforming.

  He hesitated.

  Then cupped his hands together.

  “This is ridiculous…”

  He scooped the weakened slime into his palms.

  Cold.

  Smooth.

  Slightly elastic.

  He brought it closer.

  It smelled faintly metallic.

  He closed his eyes.

  Then drank.

  The slime slid into his mouth.

  Cold.

  Slick.

  Mildly bitter.

  He swallowed forcefully.

  His face twisted in displeasure.

  He gagged.

  Bent forward.

  Forced it down.

  His stomach churned once.

  Twice.

  Then settled.

  He straightened slowly.

  “…I definitely need to find something more pleasant.”

  From silver platters to monster jelly.

  He wiped his hands clean and resumed walking.

  ?

  Days Later

  Time passed.

  The terrain shifted gradually.

  Grass thinned.

  Soil dried.

  Heat lingered longer into the evenings.

  Then came the growl.

  Deep.

  Low.

  Vibrating through the ground.

  Lars froze.

  From behind a cluster of rock formations emerged a massive bear-like beast.

  Thick dark fur.

  Bone-like ridges across its shoulders.

  Amber eyes burning with aggression.

  It was larger than any natural bear he had seen.

  Its claws scraped against stone.

  It charged.

  Lars activated Ki instantly.

  Controlled.

  Measured.

  He dodged the first swipe, the claws tearing through the earth.

  He countered with a reinforced punch to its flank.

  The beast barely staggered.

  “Hard…”

  The bear roared and lunged again.

  He rolled under its strike, coming up behind it.

  Vital Sight flickered faintly.

  A weakness at the foreleg joint.

  He drove his fist into it.

  The beast howled, stumbling.

  It swung wildly.

  Lars ducked and delivered another precise strike to its hind leg.

  It collapsed partially.

  He gathered more Ki.

  Careful.

  Focused.

  One final blow beneath the jaw.

  The crack echoed.

  The beast fell.

  Silence returned.

  Lars stood over it, breathing hard.

  He approached cautiously.

  Still.

  He knelt and searched.

  A blue mana crystal rested within its chest.

  “For something that size… I expected orange.”

  He stored it carefully.

  Then he looked at the body.

  “Use everything.”

  He had no blade.

  He glanced at a nearby stone.

  An idea formed.

  He reinforced his fist with Ki and struck the stone’s edge, chipping away pieces until a sharp fragment broke free.

  He held it up.

  Rough.

  Jagged.

  Sharp enough.

  He smiled faintly.

  Using the improvised edge, he skinned and carved what he could.

  Meat wrapped and stored.

  Hide folded.

  Nothing wasted.

  When he finished, he stood and surveyed the land.

  The air was warmer now.

  Dry.

  The ground sandy in patches.

  The wind carried heat instead of cool plains breeze.

  He narrowed his eyes toward the horizon.

  Zahara.

  He remembered the archives.

  Desert kingdom.

  Trade hub.

  Oasis cities.

  If the terrain continued shifting like this—

  He was nearing it.

  He checked his satchel.

  Meat.

  Hide.

  Blue mana crystal.

  No coin.

  He touched his Adventurer badge briefly.

  B Rank.

  Origin: Solaris.

  “If Zahara has an Adventurers Association…”

  Maybe.

  He could take a quest.

  Earn coin.

  Start over.

  The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows ahead.

  Lars adjusted his satchel.

  And continued north.

  Toward heat.

  Toward trade roads.

  Toward Zahara.

  Unaware that his exile had only just begun.

  _______

  The heat changed before the skyline did.

  It wasn’t sudden.

  It crept in.

  The wind grew thinner. The grass that had once brushed against Lars’ legs faded into patches of dry earth and scattered stone. The air felt heavier in his lungs, as if each breath carried grains of dust too fine to see.

  Then—

  He saw it.

  On the horizon, rising from the golden haze of the plains, stood tall sandstone walls gleaming beneath the sun.

  Zahara.

  The Desert Kingdom.

  From a distance, the city looked like it had been carved from the desert itself. The outer walls were not the gray stone of Solaris but warm hues of amber and gold. Towers rose at intervals, their tops crowned with curved domes and spires shaped like flickering flames. Colorful banners fluttered in the dry wind — reds, deep oranges, and shimmering threads of gold woven through them.

  Caravans moved like ants across the trade roads leading to the gates.

  Long lines of merchants approached from multiple trails — some from the west, others from the southern plains, and a few from distant, sandy paths that likely led deeper into the desert heartlands.

  Large wagons draped in cloth canopies rolled slowly forward. Camels — creatures Lars had only read about in the archives — trudged steadily beneath heavy loads. Their humps swayed with each step, their eyes half-lidded and patient.

  There were guards posted along the approach roads long before the actual gate — stationed at small checkpoints to monitor trade flow and watch for threats.

  Zahara felt… alive.

  Not calm like Solaris.

  Not orderly.

  But busy.

  Constant motion.

  Constant exchange.

  Constant awareness.

  Lars slowed his pace slightly.

  “I’m closer than I thought…”

  His heart began to race.

  What if word had traveled?

  What if someone recognized him?

  His name.

  His face.

  The trial.

  The exile.

  He clenched his fists unconsciously.

  Would his badge betray him?

  He exhaled slowly and continued forward.

  By the time he reached the South Gate, he found himself standing in a line of travelers awaiting entry.

  He immediately noticed the difference.

  This was nothing like Solaris.

  Humans stood in line — yes — but they were not alone.

  Ahead of him was a towering figure with broad shoulders and faint grayish skin, tusk-like protrusions near his jaw, and braided hair adorned with metal rings.

  A giant-blooded demi-human, perhaps.

  Behind that figure stood two beastfolk — one with subtle feline traits, golden slit pupils and faint whisker markings along her cheeks; the other broader, with small curved horns and heavy boots.

  Further down the line, he spotted someone shorter and stockier than the rest, with thick arms and a braided beard tucked neatly into his belt — a dwarf, no doubt.

  He stared.

  This was his first time seeing so many races gathered openly in one place.

  No tension.

  No segregation.

  Just… coexistence.

  There was arguing near the gate.

  One of the travelers — a tall, slender figure with long silver hair and dark tan skin — was speaking sharply with the guards.

  The guards themselves were not human.

  Their ears were slightly pointed, but not long like the elves he had read about.

  Their eyes were amber and sharp.

  Demi-human desert wardens, perhaps.

  Their armor was lighter than Solaris guards — layered leather and cloth with metal plates at key points, built for heat, not cold.

  Their spears glinted in the sunlight.

  Lars kept his gaze low but observant.

  That’s when he noticed her.

  A girl several spots ahead in line.

  She appeared human at first glance — slender frame, average height, posture slightly hunched in nervousness. She wore a light tan cloak designed for shade, the hood drawn forward.

  But she was fumbling.

  Frantically.

  She dug through her satchel, nearly dropping it.

  A slender wand slipped from her grip and clattered onto the sandy ground.

  “A mage…” Lars thought immediately.

  He almost smiled.

  The contrast between her disorganized panic and Tobi’s structured precision was impossible to ignore.

  She bent to grab her wand, then accidentally bumped into the person ahead of her, bowing repeatedly in apology.

  Lars had to fight the urge to chuckle.

  Eventually, the line moved.

  One by one, travelers presented documents, trade permits, or badges.

  Some were questioned briefly. Others were waved through with familiarity.

  When it was Lars’ turn, two guards stepped forward.

  “State your origin.”

  He swallowed subtly and handed over his Adventurer’s Association badge.

  The guard examined it carefully.

  His eyes lingered on the rank.

  B.

  His gaze flickered upward to Lars’ face.

  Then back to the badge.

  “Solaris.”

  Lars nodded quietly.

  The second guard spoke, voice firm but neutral.

  “Purpose in Zahara?”

  “To seek work,” Lars replied honestly.

  The guard studied him for another moment.

  Then nodded.

  “Entry granted.”

  Relief washed through Lars, though he didn’t show it outwardly.

  He stepped through the gate.

  And the air changed.

  The heat hit him first.

  Solaris had long daylight, yes — but Zahara’s heat was different. It wasn’t simply sunlight. It radiated from the stone, from the ground, from the very air itself.

  The streets were wider than those of Solaris, built to accommodate caravans and trade traffic. Shade structures extended from buildings, creating covered walkways along the sides of major streets. Colorful fabrics hung overhead between rooftops, casting patterned shadows below.

  Water channels ran along certain roads — narrow stone-lined streams that kept the air from becoming unbearable.

  The architecture was curved and flowing — arches instead of sharp corners. Domed rooftops. Tall windows with carved lattice screens that allowed air to pass while blocking direct sun.

  People dressed differently too.

  Loose fabrics.

  Layered robes.

  Head coverings.

  Clothing designed for breathability and shade.

  Even the armor worn by patrolling guards was lighter and more flexible.

  Lars walked slowly, taking it in.

  Solaris had felt familiar.

  Structured.

  Close to the noble courts he had once known.

  But Zahara…

  This was something else entirely.

  He saw beastfolk merchants haggling with dwarven craftsmen. A tall woman with dark blue skin and golden eyes negotiating spice prices with a human trader. A group of robed individuals speaking in hushed tones near a fountain.

  No one seemed overly concerned with status in the same rigid way Solaris had been.

  Commerce ruled here.

  Not lineage.

  Not sunlight.

  Information and trade.

  Lars’ mind swirled.

  “I need to focus.”

  He checked his satchel subconsciously.

  Meat.

  Hide.

  Blue mana crystal.

  No coin.

  His fists felt strangely light without gauntlets.

  “The Adventurers Association…” he muttered.

  That was priority.

  If Zahara had one — and it had to, being one of the three major powers — then he could try again.

  A new start.

  A new desk.

  A new evaluation.

  Maybe.

  He scanned the streets for armored figures, distinctive badges, groups that moved with discipline.

  Then—

  He bumped into someone.

  The impact was light but enough to send a slender staff tumbling to the ground again.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry—!”

  The same girl from the gate.

  She dropped to one knee, scrambling for her wand.

  Lars reacted quickly, picking it up before it could roll farther.

  The wand flickered faintly in his hand.

  A small pulse of mana shimmered across its surface — green, subtle.

  He froze for a split second.

  Then handed it back gently.

  “It’s fine,” he said softly. “I wasn’t paying attention either.”

  The hood of her cloak had slipped back.

  And now he saw her clearly.

  Bright yellow hair.

  Green eyes that seemed almost too vivid against her fair skin.

  And her ears—

  Longer.

  Sharper.

  Elven.

  An elf.

  Her face flushed red.

  “I-I’m so sorry, I really should watch where I’m going—”

  “It’s alright,” he reassured her.

  She blinked, noticing his calm demeanor.

  Then straightened slightly.

  “My name is Aery Valenwood,” she said shyly.

  The surname carried a soft elegance.

  It suited her.

  Lars bowed lightly out of habit.

  “Lars Silverwing.”

  Her eyes widened slightly at the formal gesture.

  He noticed her glance briefly at his badge.

  “You’re… an adventurer?”

  He hesitated, then smiled faintly.

  “Trying to be.”

  She mimicked him instantly.

  “Me too.”

  They both laughed quietly.

  Aery glanced around nervously.

  “I was looking for the Adventurers Association… but I’m too embarrassed to ask anyone.”

  Lars rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Me and you both.”

  Her smile softened.

  He gestured lightly.

  “We can look together.”

  Her cheeks tinted pink again.

  “Okay.”

  They began walking side by side.

  Lars stopped a passing armored figure — someone who clearly carried themselves like an adventurer.

  “Excuse me. The Adventurers Association?”

  The man pointed down a broader avenue lined with banners bearing a symbol Lars did not yet recognize.

  “Two streets east. Big building with the twin flame crest.”

  “Thank you.”

  As they walked, Aery glanced at him.

  “Are you… a mage?”

  He shook his head.

  “No. Ki user.”

  Her eyes lit up.

  “That’s rare.”

  He tilted his head.

  “So I’ve heard.”

  He nodded toward her wand.

  “You’re definitely a mage.”

  She looked down at it sheepishly.

  “Trying to be,” she repeated.

  He didn’t push further.

  They turned the final corner.

  And there it was.

  The Adventurers Association of Zahara.

  Larger than Solaris’.

  Built in sandstone and red stone, with two massive braziers burning at the entrance — flames flickering even in daylight. The crest above the doors depicted twin flames crossing over a blade.

  The entrance was busy.

  Adventurers entering and exiting.

  Some armored heavily.

  Others robed.

  Some clearly not human.

  Lars felt his chest tighten.

  This was it.

  A new beginning.

  A new test.

  A new chance.

  He swallowed quietly.

  Aery adjusted her cloak nervously beside him.

  He glanced at her.

  Then back at the doors.

  Whatever waited inside…

  This was where his journey truly began again.

  And with that thought, Lars stepped forward.