The doors to Zahara’s Adventurers Association were taller than those of Solaris.

  Not thicker.

  Not heavier.

  Just taller.

  Built to impress rather than intimidate.

  Two massive braziers burned at either side of the entrance, their flames flickering bright even beneath the harsh desert sun. The heat from them blended seamlessly with Zahara’s already unforgiving climate.

  Lars paused for half a second before stepping inside.

  Aery stood just behind him, clutching her grimoire close to her chest, her wand tucked securely at her side this time — as if she had learned her lesson from the gate.

  The moment they entered, Lars felt the difference.

  Solaris’ association had been orderly. Structured. Almost scholarly.

  Zahara’s… pulsed.

  The interior was wide and open, with high arched ceilings supported by sandstone pillars carved with flowing geometric patterns. Colorful banners hung overhead, dyed in reds, golds, and deep desert oranges.

  The scent of spices lingered faintly in the air — likely carried in by the constant stream of merchants and adventurers.

  The noise was louder than Solaris.

  Not chaotic.

  Just… energetic.

  Adventurers of all races filled the hall.

  A tall beastfolk warrior with leopard-like spots along his arms leaned against a pillar, sharpening curved blades. A pair of dwarves argued loudly over a contract pinned to the quest board. A robed woman with deep violet skin and silver hair spoke calmly to a merchant near the side counters.

  Lars’ eyes moved slowly across the room.

  The armor here was lighter.

  Less metal.

  More layered fabrics reinforced with flexible plating.

  Curved swords were common. Scimitars. Hooked blades. Spears with crescent heads.

  Even the shields were different — rounded and embossed with desert motifs.

  And then there was the most obvious difference.

  Race.

  Here, humans were not the majority.

  They were simply one of many.

  No one seemed out of place.

  No one stared at beastfolk.

  No one whispered at dwarves.

  It was… normal.

  Lars felt something ease inside him.

  Zahara did not look like a kingdom that judged at first glance.

  But then—

  A few eyes did cross him.

  White hair.

  Bright blue eyes.

  A foreign appearance in a desert city.

  He caught the subtle looks.

  Not hostile.

  Just curious.

  Aery noticed too.

  Her shoulders instinctively shrank inward, and she lowered her gaze slightly to avoid eye contact.

  Lars noticed the shift.

  He ignored the stares.

  He had been judged already.

  He refused to let it define him again.

  He stepped forward.

  The layout mirrored Solaris’ association in structure.

  To the right: a massive quest display board layered in parchment contracts.

  To the left: evaluation section, including a large mana crystal orb resting on a reinforced pedestal.

  He slowed for a fraction of a second when he saw it.

  The orb.

  His stomach tightened briefly.

  He forced himself to continue walking.

  Behind the main counter stood a man unlike anyone Lars had seen up close before.

  Broad shoulders.

  Lean build.

  Golden-tan skin patterned faintly with darker stripes along his forearms.

  Sharp amber eyes.

  And unmistakable feline features — pointed ears atop his head and a sleek tail swaying lazily behind him.

  Beastfolk.

  Part man.

  Part cat.

  He carried himself with relaxed confidence.

  When Lars and Aery approached, the beastfolk straightened slightly and offered a small, sharp-toothed grin.

  “Welcome to the Adventurers Association of Zahara,” he said smoothly. “Name’s Kael Sandclaw.”

  His voice was warm but observant.

  His gaze flicked briefly between them.

  Young.

  Well-kept.

  Outsiders.

  “Identification, please.”

  Lars handed over his badge first.

  Kael examined it carefully.

  “Lars Silverwing. B Rank. Origin — Solaris. No guild affiliation.”

  His eyes lifted slowly to Lars’ face.

  “You don’t look old enough to hold B.”

  Lars offered a faint smile. “I get that a lot.”

  Kael chuckled softly.

  Then his gaze shifted to Aery, who was half-hidden behind Lars’ shoulder.

  “And what about the quiet one?”

  Aery stiffened slightly.

  Lars glanced back at her.

  She stepped forward hesitantly and handed over her badge.

  Kael’s brows rose slightly.

  “Aery Valenwood. B Rank. Origin — Celestia.”

  Now that caught his attention.

  “Celestia, hm?”

  He looked at her more carefully.

  “Arcane Dominion doesn’t send many to Zahara.”

  Aery swallowed.

  “I… chose to come.”

  Kael smirked faintly.

  “Brave.”

  He handed the badges back.

  “Traveling together as a party?”

  The question lingered in the air.

  Aery’s face flushed instantly.

  “I— we—”

  Lars chuckled lightly to cut the tension.

  “Yes.”

  He said it simply.

  Calmly.

  Aery blinked.

  Her embarrassment shifted into something warmer.

  She hadn’t expected that answer.

  Kael’s tail swayed once in amusement.

  “Good. B Rank parties are rare at your age.”

  He leaned forward slightly.

  “You two look like potential future S Ranks.”

  He laughed casually.

  But there was a hint of sincerity in his tone.

  Lars’ ears caught the words.

  S Rank.

  He didn’t react outwardly.

  Kael continued.

  “Since you’re both B Rank, you may take up to A Rank quests as a party. Individually, you’re restricted to B.”

  Lars felt a quiet surge of confidence.

  He hadn’t even asked Aery yet if she wanted to team up officially.

  But hearing it phrased like that…

  It felt right.

  Kael gestured toward the quest board.

  “Reward scales by rank and client.”

  He began listing casually.

  “D Rank — base 30 bronze.”

  “C Rank — 50 bronze.”

  “B Rank — 1 silver.”

  “A Rank — 5 silver.”

  Lars’ eyes widened slightly.

  His mind began racing.

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  Five silver.

  That was 500 bronze.

  He imagined new gear.

  Proper gauntlets.

  Supplies.

  A room somewhere.

  Food that didn’t wobble.

  He almost drifted into a fantasy state—

  Then Kael added:

  “S Rank quests begin at 3 gold. Often more.”

  Lars snapped back to reality.

  Three gold.

  Three thousand bronze.

  He swallowed.

  His mind flickered briefly to dragons.

  Black mana cores.

  Dragon Slayer ranks.

  He shoved the thought aside.

  Kael continued.

  “Maximum party size before guild registration is five members. Any more, and you’ll need to formally register as a guild or join one.”

  Lars froze slightly.

  Five.

  Aery.

  Him.

  He said nothing.

  But the number lodged itself in his thoughts.

  Kael leaned back against the counter casually.

  “Materials matter too. Mana cores sell.”

  Lars perked up immediately.

  “How much?”

  Kael grinned knowingly.

  “White cores? Not much. Need about ten to equal a single blue.”

  “Blue cores sell for one bronze. Sometimes two, depending on market demand.”

  Lars blinked.

  “One bronze?”

  Kael shrugged.

  “Supply and demand. Blue’s common.”

  “Orange cores? Fifty bronze.”

  Lars nodded slowly.

  “That’s better.”

  “Purple cores?” Kael continued. “One silver. Sometimes more.”

  Aery’s eyes widened faintly.

  “And black?” Lars asked carefully.

  Kael chuckled.

  “If you bring me a black core, we won’t be talking prices. It goes to auction.”

  He tapped the counter lightly.

  “Black cores belong to dragons.”

  The word lingered.

  Dragon.

  Lars felt a strange chill beneath Zahara’s heat.

  Kael’s eyes sharpened slightly.

  “Don’t go chasing legends.”

  Lars offered a small nod.

  “We won’t.”

  Kael pushed the badges back toward them.

  “You’re officially recognized under Zahara’s registry. You may begin accepting contracts.”

  Aery remained quiet the entire time, absorbing every word.

  Lars thanked Kael with a respectful nod.

  As they stepped away from the counter, Aery leaned slightly closer to him.

  “You really said we were a party…”

  Lars smiled faintly.

  “Unless you don’t want to be.”

  She shook her head quickly.

  “No! I mean— I’d like that.”

  Her green eyes shimmered with cautious excitement.

  He turned toward the quest board.

  “This is where it really starts.”

  Zahara was not Solaris.

  No one here knew about his exile.

  No one whispered murderer.

  No one looked at him with suspicion — only curiosity.

  He took a steady breath.

  Aery adjusted her grip on her grimoire.

  Together, beneath the twin flame crest of Zahara’s Association, they stepped toward the board.

  Lars’ fingers dragged slowly across the layered parchment of the quest board.

  The board in Zahara was larger than the one in Solaris. Instead of plain wooden planks and iron pins, this one was framed in carved sandstone, etched with geometric desert patterns. Small brass lanterns hung from its corners, illuminating the postings in warm amber light. The papers themselves were secured with thin golden nails rather than wax seals.

  Everything here felt… refined differently.

  Not noble.

  Not military.

  But wealthy.

  Sun-baked.

  Practical.

  He scanned the rewards first.

  30 bronze.

  50 bronze.

  1 silver.

  2 silver.

  5 silver — A Rank.

  His breathing slowed.

  Then—

  A Rank — 1 Gold Coin.

  His eyes locked onto it.

  The parchment was thicker than the others, marked with a stylized crest of crossed spears beneath a desert sun. The reward line shimmered faintly in ink.

  One gold coin.

  His mind immediately began calculating.

  Ten silver.

  A thousand bronze.

  Food.

  Supplies.

  A room.

  Possibly armor.

  Possibly even…

  His own path forward.

  He reached up and pulled the quest down.

  The quiet tear of paper leaving the nail seemed to echo louder than it should have.

  Several nearby adventurers turned.

  A low chuckle followed.

  Then a full-bodied laugh.

  “Well now… look at that.”

  A towering demi-human stepped forward, pushing away from a nearby pillar. He was broad and heavy-set, with dark gray skin and thick tusks curving slightly upward from his lower jaw. His eyes were sharp and amber, and faint tribal scars marked his arms. His shoulders were wrapped in layered hide armor stitched with iron rings.

  A boar-beastfolk.

  He looked down at Lars and then at Aery as if inspecting stray children.

  “You kids think that’s a toy?” he said, nodding toward the parchment in Lars’ hand.

  Aery stiffened immediately.

  She instinctively stepped slightly behind Lars.

  The boar-man smirked.

  “You need to let real adventurers handle the A Ranks.”

  His voice carried easily across the association floor.

  A few others snickered.

  One man leaned back in his chair to watch.

  Another folded his arms.

  Lars didn’t immediately react.

  He simply held the parchment and met the man’s gaze.

  “I don’t know what they tell you in your fancy mage towers,” the demi-human continued, glancing briefly at Aery’s Celestia origin.

  “But these quests aren’t some practice drills.”

  His lip curled.

  “Desert wyverns don’t care how young you are.”

  Aery tugged lightly at Lars’ sleeve.

  “L-Lars… maybe we should just—”

  Lars didn’t step back.

  He felt something firm settle inside him.

  He had endured whispers.

  Exile.

  Accusations.

  Shame.

  He would not be belittled again.

  “You’ll see,” he said calmly.

  It wasn’t loud.

  But it was steady.

  The boar-beastfolk’s expression shifted.

  “You’ve got a mouth on you.”

  He stepped closer.

  “You don’t respect your elders,” he growled, “you’ll learn the hard way.”

  His hand shot forward, aiming to grab Lars by the collar.

  Aery gasped.

  But Lars moved first.

  Ki surged into his forearm — not explosively, not recklessly — just enough.

  He shifted his stance and deflected the grasp with a clean parry.

  Their arms collided with a sharp crack.

  The boar-man’s wrist was knocked off course.

  He stumbled half a step.

  Silence rippled outward.

  The demi-human’s eyes widened slightly.

  Ki user.

  The realization flickered across his face.

  The atmosphere thickened.

  Before either could escalate further—

  The association doors at the far end of the hall opened.

  Not loudly.

  Not dramatically.

  But the shift in presence was immediate.

  Conversations died down.

  Chairs scraped softly as people straightened.

  A few adventurers bowed their heads instinctively.

  Footsteps approached.

  Light.

  Measured.

  Confident.

  A woman entered — but she was nothing like Natalia.

  Her skin was deep bronze, kissed by constant sun. Her long hair flowed like pale desert sand, nearly silver-blonde, cascading freely down her back. Two tall, fox-like ears rose elegantly from her hair, tipped in white. A long, full tail of matching pale fur swayed lazily behind her.

  Her eyes were sharp turquoise — bright, piercing, almost luminous.

  She wore no armor.

  Instead, she was dressed in layered desert silks — flowing fabrics of deep sapphire blue and burnished copper. Golden chains draped lightly from her shoulders, catching the light as she moved. Around her wrists were thin bangles etched with runic symbols.

  Her attire was not military.

  Not noble courtly.

  It was Zaharan.

  Regal in a sun-born way.

  At her hip rested a curved scimitar with a polished ivory hilt.

  The blade’s sheath was decorated with sun motifs.

  She did not rush.

  She did not scowl.

  She simply arrived.

  The boar-beastfolk stiffened instantly.

  “Ghoran.”

  Her voice was warm.

  But it carried weight.

  The man immediately withdrew his hand and stepped back.

  “Head Master Zahira.”

  Zahira.

  Head Master Zahira al-Nasir of the Zaharan Adventurers Association.

  Her gaze moved between them.

  She had clearly seen the parry.

  The ki.

  The tension.

  A faint smile curved her lips — not amused, but intrigued.

  “Are we testing strength in my hall again?” she asked lightly.

  “No, Head Master,” Ghoran said quickly, lowering his head.

  Her turquoise eyes shifted to Lars.

  She studied him openly.

  White hair.

  Blue eyes.

  Composed posture.

  No guild insignia.

  Then her gaze moved to Aery.

  Celestian origin.

  B Rank.

  Young.

  Timid.

  Her brows lifted subtly.

  “Well now.”

  She stepped closer, the faint scent of desert spices following her movement.

  “I do not recognize you two.”

  It wasn’t accusation.

  It was curiosity.

  Aery’s grip tightened on her grimoire.

  Lars kept his posture steady.

  Zahira’s tail swayed once behind her.

  “You parried cleanly,” she noted to Lars.

  He nodded slightly.

  “I reacted.”

  “Good,” she replied softly.

  Her attention shifted briefly to Ghoran.

  “In Zahara,” she said calmly, “we do not measure worth by age.”

  Her voice did not rise.

  But the reprimand was clear.

  Ghoran bowed deeply.

  “Yes, Head Master.”

  She looked back at Lars and Aery.

  “You are new.”

  It was a statement.

  “Yes,” Lars replied carefully.

  Zahira tilted her head slightly, studying them both.

  “Ambitious,” she added, glancing at the gold-reward quest in Lars’ hand.

  A faint glimmer of amusement touched her eyes.

  “Follow me.”

  It wasn’t a request.

  The surrounding adventurers immediately returned to their business, though many watched carefully.

  As Lars and Aery followed her toward the inner corridors, Aery leaned slightly toward him and whispered:

  “She’s… different.”

  Lars nodded faintly.

  Yes.

  Different from Solaris.

  Different from Natalia.

  Different from anyone he had met.

  Head Master Zahira al-Nasir moved with the grace of the desert wind — calm on the surface.

  But Lars could feel it.

  There was power beneath it.

  And she had taken interest.

  The door to her office closed softly behind them.

  Unlike the polished sandstone and open lantern glow of the main hall, Head Master Zahira’s office felt intimate — shaded from the harsh desert light by layered silk curtains that filtered the sun into warm gold. The walls were lined with maps of trade routes, caravan trails, and monster territories marked in red ink. Shelves held scrolls bound in leather, mana cores stored in glass jars, and ledgers thick with sealed documents.

  A brass incense burner smoldered in one corner, releasing a faint scent of myrrh and something sharper — perhaps desert sage.

  Zahira walked past her desk but did not sit immediately.

  Instead, she turned and leaned lightly against its edge, folding one arm beneath the other. Her tail curled lazily behind her.

  She studied Lars first.

  Then Aery.

  Then the parchment in Lars’ hand.

  “You chose quickly,” she said calmly.

  Her turquoise eyes settled on the quest notice.

  “Elimination Request — Sand Wyrm brood disrupting southern merchant caravans. Confirmed A Rank. Reward: 1 Gold.”

  She looked up at him.

  “Do you know what that means?”

  Lars held her gaze.

  “It means merchants are losing profit,” he said evenly. “And that the beasts have likely already killed someone.”

  Zahira’s eyes narrowed slightly — not in anger, but in evaluation.

  “Good,” she replied.

  She pushed off the desk and walked toward the large map on the wall. With one finger, she tapped a circled region marked in red.

  “This stretch of road connects Zahara to the central trade arteries of Sesilia. If it collapses, caravans reroute. Rerouting increases risk. Risk increases cost. Cost affects the kingdom.”

  She glanced over her shoulder.

  “A Rank means multiple confirmed sightings. It means coordinated behavior. It means casualties.”

  She faced him fully now.

  “And it means if you fail, you die.”

  The words were not dramatic.

  They were simple.

  Aery swallowed quietly.

  Zahira’s gaze shifted to her.

  “And you.”

  Aery stiffened slightly but forced herself not to shrink.

  “Celestia,” Zahira said thoughtfully. “Arcane Dominion.”

  She stepped closer, examining Aery’s badge.

  “B Rank at your age.”

  Her brows lifted faintly.

  “Impressive.”

  Aery’s voice came out small but steady.

  “I… struggle with control.”

  Zahira’s eyes softened just slightly.

  “All powerful mages do.”

  She circled them slowly, her silks whispering against the stone floor.

  “You two are young. Unaffiliated. No guild protection.”

  She stopped in front of Lars.

  “And yet you reach for gold.”

  Her gaze sharpened.

  “Why?”

  The question lingered.

  Lars did not hesitate.

  “Because I need it.”

  No arrogance.

  No excuse.

  Just truth.

  Zahira watched him carefully.

  “You are not from Zahara,” she observed.

  “No.”

  “You are not from Celestia,” she added, glancing at his badge.

  He remained silent.

  She did not press.

  Instead, she shifted her focus.

  “You parried Ghoran cleanly,” she said. “He is A Rank. Experienced.”

  Aery blinked slightly at that.

  Zahira caught the reaction.

  “Yes,” she confirmed. “You two were about to provoke someone far above B Rank.”

  Her eyes returned to Lars.

  “And yet you did not hesitate.”

  He answered calmly.

  “I won’t let someone belittle my partner.”

  Aery’s face flushed faintly.

  Zahira noticed.

  A small smile touched her lips.

  “Partner.”

  She walked back to her desk and finally took her seat, crossing one leg over the other gracefully.

  “You wish to take this A Rank quest as a party?”

  “Yes,” Lars replied.

  Zahira rested her chin lightly against her fingers.

  “You understand that as B Ranks, you are only permitted A Rank assignments when formally registered as a party?”

  “We registered together,” Lars answered.

  She glanced at the ledger on her desk.

  “Yes. I saw.”

  She tapped her finger once against the parchment.

  “You would begin tomorrow?”

  Lars nodded.

  Aery glanced at him, surprised by how firmly he answered.

  Zahira studied him for several long seconds.

  There was something unusual about him.

  Confidence — but not pride.

  Resolve — but not recklessness.

  He didn’t feel like a noble child chasing glory.

  He felt… driven.

  Her tail flicked once thoughtfully.

  “Very well,” she said at last.

  “I will personally approve the request.”

  Aery’s eyes widened.

  “Y-You will?”

  “Yes.”

  Zahira’s tone carried subtle authority.

  “If you are bold enough to reach for gold on your first day in Zahara, I will see what your courage is worth.”

  She stood again and approached the window, pulling one curtain aside. Sunlight poured in, illuminating her silhouette in warm gold.

  “You will report at dawn.”

  She glanced back at them.

  “I will send scouts to verify your results. If you lie, exaggerate, or abandon the task without report…”

  Her turquoise eyes sharpened.

  “You will not take another quest in this kingdom.”

  Lars nodded firmly.

  “Understood.”

  Aery straightened as well.

  “Yes, Head Master.”

  Zahira’s expression softened slightly.

  “For your age,” she said, “B Rank is rare.”

  She looked between them.

  “As a pair, even rarer.”

  A small, knowing smile curved her lips.

  “If you survive this.”

  Her gaze lingered on Lars.

  “Zahara may have use for you.”

  The words carried more weight than they seemed.

  She waved her hand gently toward the door.

  “Prepare yourselves. Sand Wyrms burrow. They strike from below. They hunt in clusters.”

  She paused.

  “And the desert does not forgive carelessness.”

  Lars bowed respectfully.

  “Thank you for the opportunity.”

  Aery followed suit, her movements still slightly shy but determined.

  As they turned to leave, Zahira called out once more.

  “White-haired boy.”

  Lars stopped and glanced back.

  “You fight like someone who has already lost something.”

  The room felt quieter suddenly.

  He did not answer.

  Zahira’s eyes softened, just barely.

  “Do not lose more.”

  The curtain fell back into place as she released it.

  Lars and Aery stepped out into the bright, noisy hall once more.

  Behind them, Head Master Zahira al-Nasir stood still for a moment, thoughtful.

  Two young B Ranks.

  Unfamiliar origins.

  Unusual composure.

  And ambition beyond their station.

  She smiled faintly to herself.

  Tomorrow would be interesting.

  The golden doors of Zahara’s Adventurers Association closed behind them with a heavy thud, muting the noise of the hall.

  For a moment, neither Lars nor Aery spoke.

  The desert air outside felt warmer now, painted in shades of amber and copper as the sun lowered toward the horizon. Long shadows stretched across sandstone streets. Merchants called out final deals before nightfall. Fabric canopies flapped lazily in the dry breeze.

  Lars adjusted the strap of his satchel.

  There was still so much they didn’t know about each other.

  He glanced sideways at her.

  “Aery.”

  She looked up immediately. “Y-Yes?”

  “Why?”

  She blinked. “Why…?”

  He scratched the back of his head lightly. “Why did you agree to be in a party with me?”

  Her steps slowed.

  For a second, she genuinely didn’t understand what he meant.

  Then it clicked.

  Her face flushed faintly.

  “I just…” She fumbled with her sleeve. “You were confident.”

  “Confident?” he repeated.

  “You answer questions without shaking,” she said quickly, as if afraid the words would disappear if she didn’t release them fast enough. “Even when everyone was staring at you.”

  She swallowed.

  “You didn’t look afraid.”

  Lars almost laughed.

  If only she knew.

  “I thought you were strong,” she added softly.

  He smiled, teasing lightly. “That’s all it takes? A straight face?”

  Her blush deepened.

  They passed by a few adventurers exiting the association. Some glanced at them with curiosity — young B Ranks pulling an A Rank quest on their first day.

  Aery instinctively lowered her head slightly, avoiding eye contact.

  Lars ignored the stares.

  They stepped fully into the open street now — no longer strangers who had bumped into each other, but allies.

  “So,” Lars muttered, glancing at the sky. “Where are we staying tonight?”

  Aery hesitated.

  Lars sighed quietly. “I only have one blue mana core.”

  He forced a small smile. “I don’t think there’s anywhere in Zahara that rents rooms for one bronze coin.”

  Aery perked up slightly.

  “Um… I have two silver coins.”

  Lars froze.

  “You have what?”

  “T-Two silvers,” she repeated timidly.

  Relief washed over him, but he tried not to show it too strongly.

  “Where did you get that much coin?” he asked.

  “My family,” she said softly. “They… gave me some before I left.”

  He forgot, for a second.

  People here had families.

  Support systems.

  Farewells.

  “They must love you,” he teased gently.

  She looked away bashfully.

  “I only have a mana core and some dried meat from earlier hunting,” he admitted. “Not exactly impressive.”

  There was a pause.

  Then, gathering what seemed like all her courage at once, she blurted:

  “If you want… we can share a room for tonight.”

  Silence.

  Lars stayed composed.

  He bowed slightly, hand over his chest.

  “I would truly love that.”

  Her face went bright red instantly — even the tips of her pointed ears turned pink.

  “You’re a lifesaver,” he added playfully. “I thought I’d have to sleep outside again.”

  “Again?” she asked, surprised.

  She took a closer look at him now.

  His clothes were worn from travel. Light. Minimal. No visible weapon.

  “What class are you?” she asked shyly. “You don’t carry much…”

  Lars paused.

  He didn’t want to lie.

  But he also didn’t want to explain everything.

  “I’m new around here,” he said simply.

  Not a lie.

  Just incomplete.

  She didn’t press further.

  The sun dipped lower.

  Zahara’s evenings came faster than Solaris’. The desert sky turned violet and gold, heat still radiating from the stone streets.

  “We should find somewhere to stay,” Lars said. “Big day tomorrow.”

  She nodded.

  They wandered through narrow streets lined with lanterns being lit one by one. The architecture of Zahara was different — curved rooftops, shaded walkways, colored glass windows reflecting fading sunlight. Fabrics hung between buildings to create cooling shade. Water sellers called out to late customers.

  Eventually, they found a modest inn tucked between a spice shop and a tailor’s stall.

  Nothing extravagant.

  But safe.

  They stepped inside.

  The clerk behind the counter was human — lively, warm-eyed, with curly brown hair tied back loosely.

  “Well aren’t you two adorable?” she greeted cheerfully.

  Lars cleared his throat.

  “We’d like the cheapest room available.”

  “Ten bronze coins,” she replied casually.

  Lars blinked.

  “That’s it?”

  She shrugged. “Desert nights are cold. Most people pay extra for larger rooms.”

  Aery quietly placed one silver coin on the counter.

  The clerk raised a brow, glancing between them.

  “Ohhh,” she teased lightly. “Young nobles out for some privacy?”

  Aery’s entire face turned crimson.

  Lars immediately waved his hands. “No, no— we’re a party. We have a quest tomorrow.”

  The clerk laughed. “Relax. I’m joking.”

  She slid the key forward.

  “I’ll convert the change and return it to you in the morning.”

  They were led upstairs to a simple room — two small beds, a wooden table, a single lantern casting warm light.

  When the door closed behind them, silence settled.

  Lars dropped his satchel and collapsed onto one of the beds.

  “…This feels incredible.”

  Aery stood for a moment, watching him.

  He looked… tired.

  Not physically alone.

  Something deeper.

  “You’ve been traveling a while, haven’t you?” she asked quietly.

  He stared at the ceiling.

  “Long enough.”

  She sat on the edge of her bed, hands folded in her lap.

  “You’re full of mysteries,” she murmured.

  He smiled faintly.

  “You can ask.”

  She hesitated.

  Then slowly, she began.

  She told him about Celestia.

  About how mages were praised for power but judged for instability.

  About how she had raw strength but couldn’t always control it.

  About the pressure.

  About being told she was foolish for leaving.

  “I’m scared of hurting someone,” she admitted. “Sometimes the wind responds too fast… or too strong.”

  She lifted her wand slightly.

  “And my grimoire helps me structure the spells. But…”

  She looked down.

  “…I still lose control.”

  Lars listened quietly.

  For once, she spoke more than a few words at a time.

  “I’m scared for tomorrow,” she whispered.

  He sat up slightly.

  “I’m scared too.”

  She looked surprised.

  “I don’t fully understand my own strength,” he continued. “And I don’t want to hurt anyone either.”

  That was true.

  Painfully true.

  She felt something ease in her chest.

  Understanding.

  He leaned back again.

  “But I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Her cheeks warmed faintly.

  “Th-Thank you.”

  He yawned.

  “We can talk more tomorrow. We need rest.”

  She nodded.

  They turned down the lantern.

  Two separate beds.

  Two separate hearts racing quietly in the dark.

  And slowly, both drifted into sleep.

  ?

  Elsewhere.

  Far from Zahara.

  In Solaris.

  Gallant stepped through the crimson doors of the Crimson Flare Guild.

  Members greeted him casually, but he offered little in response. His mind was elsewhere.

  He moved straight toward Natalia’s office.

  Knocked once.

  Entered.

  Closed the door.

  She didn’t look up from her desk.

  “Nice of you to show your face around here once in a while.”

  “Guild Master Natalia—”

  “It’s Captain Natalia,” she corrected coolly. “Even to you, Gallant. You know I don’t like formalities.”

  He exhaled softly.

  “…We’re family.”

  “Yes,” she said. “And in private, you can speak normally.”

  He relaxed slightly.

  “I had questions. About Lars Silverwing.”

  Her expression sharpened faintly.

  “Ah. The boy you failed to judge properly.”

  Gallant swallowed his irritation.

  “When you arrived at the scene… was there anything unusual?”

  She leaned back.

  “There were a few things.”

  “Please.”

  “There was faint residual disturbance deeper in the trees,” she said slowly. “One of our mages noticed it. Almost like something withdrew.”

  Gallant’s stomach tightened.

  Vernon.

  She continued.

  “The fatal wound on Osbin… it was too precise.”

  Gallant’s eyes flickered.

  “The battlefield suggested chaos. Blunt impacts. Clashes.”

  She folded her hands.

  “But that final strike was deliberate.”

  Silence.

  “Did you report that to Grandolf?” Gallant pressed.

  She paused.

  “No.”

  His frustration flared. “That’s important—”

  She stood abruptly.

  “Watch your tone.”

  He bowed his head immediately.

  “…Apologies.”

  She studied him.

  “You think there was a third party.”

  He didn’t answer directly.

  But his clenched fists said enough.

  “If there was,” she continued, “we have no proof.”

  He nodded stiffly.

  Dismissed himself.

  Then turned and left the office.

  Storming down the hallway.

  “It had to be Vernon,” he muttered under his breath.

  The smug smile.

  The silence.

  The lack of report.

  “If he won’t come to me…”

  His jaw tightened.

  “…I’ll go to him.”