The walk to town was... quiet. Not peaceful quiet, more like the uncomfortable kind that stretches out just long enough to make you start noticing every little noise. The crunch of leaves underfoot. The occasional rustle of branches like something was watching us. The steady rhythm of footsteps—Arden's up ahead, deliberate and unhurried, and Sora's barely audible beside me, like she'd somehow trained herself to move without making a sound. And then there was me. Probably breathing too loud.
I didn't know why he brought me along.
He hadn't explained. Not even a vague hint. One moment he was finishing off a knight like it was a midweek chore, the next he just turned to me and said I should join his party. Like that was a perfectly normal thing to ask a traumatized girl whose entire village had just gone up in flames. No context. No reason. Just... "join."
Maybe he pitied me. Maybe he needed someone to carry things. Or maybe I'd accidentally impressed him by not fainting on the spot when he split a guy in half. Hard to say. Arden didn't exactly offer explanations unprompted. Or at all.
Still. I didn't have a better option. Wandering off alone into bandit country sounded like a quick way to die, and if I was going to stick close to anyone, it might as well be the strange magic man who cut knights in half and didn't blink.
Sora walked close to me, her golden hair catching little bits of sunlight through the canopy. She didn't talk much, but every now and then she'd glance at me, as if checking to see if I was still following. I wasn't sure if she was being kind or just mildly paranoid, but either way, it helped. It made me feel a little less like baggage.
The forest didn't end. The path was barely a path, just trampled grass and a few broken branches. Birds called out occasionally, though even they sounded half-hearted about it. And for a while, that was it—just walking and silence and the growing sense that I was the only one here not pretending this was all perfectly normal.
Eventually, I gave up and asked, "Your magic… how'd you get so strong?"
I tried to sound curious. Not like I'd been thinking about the way he'd turned a man in armor into red mist without blinking.
Arden glanced over his shoulder, deadpan. "Luck, mostly."
I stared at him. "Luck? Seriously? That's your answer?"
He shrugged, like strength just fell on people if they walked long enough.
I opened my mouth to ask more—maybe joke that he was really some ancient beast pretending to be human—but what came out instead was, "Couldn't you have just... done that teleporting thing I've heard mages can do? Saved us the walk?"
It came out more bitter than I meant, but to be fair, we were still walking.
To my surprise, he paused. Tilted his head like he was actually considering it. Then: "I've never been to this town. Can't travel somewhere I haven't marked."
That made me blink. "Marked?"
He gave me that look—the one that made me feel like a child asking why the sky was blue. "You need to fix the place in your memory. Magic doesn't fold the world for no reason."
"Right. Makes sense. You can't jump where you've never stood, after all." I muttered, doing my best impression of someone who totally knew that already and was just testing him.
He didn't press. Just turned and walked again, like that settled it.
I shook my head and exhaled through my nose. I never thought I'd be learning magic from someone who talked less than the trees, but I wasn't about to complain.
The sun crept lower behind the trees, the light turning amber and casting everything in long, strange shadows. I was starting to wonder if we'd been walking in circles when Sora pointed ahead.
"There," she said quietly. "Almost there."
And sure enough, through the thinning trees, a shape began to form—large, looming, and real.
The town.
Not a village. Not a handful of huts. A proper town, with towering stone walls and roofs that jabbed at the sky. Smoke curled from chimneys. I'd heard about places like this—whispers from traders, stories shared by the old men who'd seen more of the world than the rest of us put together.
Seeing one for myself? It didn't feel real.
Compared to the ruins I'd crawled from, this place was another world. No fire. No blood. Just noise—shouts, hammering, laughter—and color. Flags fluttering, clothes in every shade, painted shop signs I couldn't read but still found beautiful. It was... overwhelming. Beautiful, but in the way that made your chest tighten. Like it was too big, too alive.
My thoughts pulled backward, uninvited. I remembered flames, falling roofs, the screaming. The smell of smoke in my lungs. That horrible emptiness after. I flinched, blinked hard, and forced the memories down like stones into water. Not now. Not here.
We reached the town gates. A few guards were stationed there, wearing half-bored expressions and not enough armor for my liking. Their eyes tracked us as we passed—more specifically, tracked Arden. One of them stiffened, his gaze sharpening for a second like he recognized something and wasn't sure how to feel about it.
He didn't say anything, though. None of them did.
I, for one, was trying not to look suspicious, which is exactly what makes a person look suspicious. I smiled too quickly. Then stopped. Then scratched at my eye like something was in it.
We walked through the gates and into the city proper, and it felt like crossing into a different reality. The noise hit first—vendors shouting over each other, wheels rattling against cobblestones, laughter and arguments and music bleeding out of alleyways. It was chaos, but the kind that felt safe. Or at least, safer than what I'd come from.
The market hit like a brick wall of sound, smell, and motion. One moment we were stepping off a quiet street, and the next I was in the middle of what felt like fifty overlapping conversations, a cloud of spice smoke, and a child darting past me with a sticky hand and no regard for personal space.
It was chaos. Loud, messy, and alive. But not dangerous. Not like the kind of chaos I'd just left behind.
The market was a tangle of motion and smell. One step in and I was hit with fifty voices, a gust of spice smoke, and a barefoot child who nearly bowled me over. Vendors shouted over each other with the kind of practiced intensity that could peel paint. There was food—so much food. Meats sizzling over open flames, bright fruits stacked in precarious pyramids, strange glowing pastries that looked like they were enchanted to taste better than they actually did.
I probably looked like I'd never seen a market before. Because I hadn't.
My stomach growled audibly, because of course it did.
I tried to act like I wasn't eyeing a skewer stand like it owed me money. Arden noticed. Of course he noticed. He always seemed to noticed things without looking like he noticed them, which was somehow more annoying than if he just pointed it out.
"Hungry?" he asked, voice flat as ever, but with the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.
I nodded like a starving stray. "Starving."
Without fanfare or comment, he peeled off toward the stall, handed over a few coins, and returned with skewers. Just like that. No lecture about saving coin. No awkward silence while I tried to justify not having money. Just... food.
I took one. The warmth sank into my fingers, and I could've cried from the smell alone. It was smoky and salty and perfect. Maybe not fancy, but right now it was the best thing I'd ever tasted.
Sora accepted hers with a smile so small it could've slipped under a door, but she took a bite and let out a tiny, satisfied hum. "It's good," she said, voice soft but certain.
I nodded, mouth too full to respond properly. It was good. Stupidly good.
As we wandered deeper into the market, the noise thickened. More people. More stares.
And not at me.
At Arden.
It wasn't subtle, either. People paused mid-argument to glance his way. Shopkeepers tracked him between customers. One guy literally stopped chewing just to stare like he was watching an undead walk by.
It wasn't fear, though. Not exactly. More like recognition wrapped in confusion, dipped in respect, and rolled in a very thin layer of "should I salute or kneel or something?" I had no idea why. Arden didn't act important. Didn't dress like royalty. Didn't look like a hero, unless heroes wore plain cloaks and frowned a lot. He moved like someone used to walking alone.
But still. The air around him shifted when he walked through it. Like even the market could sense it.
I kept my questions to myself.
Eventually, we reached the Adventurers' Guild—one of those places where trouble wasn't just expected, it was practically on the welcome sign. Big. Loud. Proudly chaotic. Banners on the outside, weapons on the inside, and the unmistakable scent of beer, sweat, and the sound of two grown men arguing like their lives depended on it from somewhere in the back.
Inside, it was all worn wood, loud voices, and scuffed-up pride. Adventurers filled every table, boasting about quests, trading gear, or just laughing too hard at their own jokes. The kind of place where half the furniture had been repaired more than once and every stain had a story behind it.
We headed to the front desk, where a receptionist greeted us with the kind of smile that said, "I've seen too much, but I'm getting paid."
She gave me a once-over—neutral, professional, with the kind of casual disinterest that said she'd already filed me under "harmless." Then her gaze slid to Arden, and something flickered there. Recognition? Respect? A little fear? Hard to tell. She didn't explain it, and I didn't ask.
"New recruit?" she asked.
I nodded. "Yeah. First time."
She hummed and reached for a clipboard, but paused mid-motion to study me more closely. "Can you read and write?"
I blinked. "I... no. Not really."
She nodded, like she'd expected that answer. "No worries. I'll fill it out with you. Name?"
I told her. She went down the list, asking my age, if I knew my magic affinity, and what kind of experience I had. I considered saying "emergency sprinting" but settled on "none."
Once she was done, she gestured for me to follow her into a side room, where a large crystal sat on a pedestal like it had been waiting its whole life for this moment.
"Place your hand on the orb," she said, already half-looking away.
I hesitated for a second, my fingers hovering above it. I wasn't expecting much—maybe a flicker, a polite spark, something that would at least register I existed.
Then it lit up.
Not just a spark. A glow. Golden and warm and steady.
I flinched back like it might explode.
The receptionist blinked, finally paying attention. "Light magic," she said, sounding faintly impressed. "That's rare."
I stared at her. "Wait… really?"
She nodded. "Strong, too. You'll want to train that. Light mages don't come around often."
I didn't respond right away. Mostly because my brain was still trying to catch up. I'd spent the last few days assuming I was the background character in someone else's disaster story, and now here I was lighting up magical artifacts.
Sora appeared beside me, almost like she'd been waiting for the right moment. She gave me a gentle smile—small, reassuring. "See? You're not useless."
I let out a half-laugh. "Give me some time and I'll probably find a way to mess it up."
But even as I said it, there was this strange warmth rising up in my chest. Like the tiniest part of me had finally stopped bracing for impact.
Maybe I wasn't just tagging along. Maybe I could actually do something.
The receptionist handed me a bronze plate that glowed faintly, like it was trying its best to look important. "This is your adventurer rank," she said. "Bronze. It's where most adventurers start."
Bronze. Of course. The very bottom of the ladder. I turned it over in my hand, pretending it didn't feel like a polite way of saying good luck not dying. Still, it was mine. A beginning. I hadn't had one of those in a while.
Sora had a gold plate. Arden's was platinum. Naturally. I tried not to dwell on that. Comparing myself to them was like showing up to a swordfight with a spoon.
Once the receptionist finished explaining where to find the quest board and the nearest inn, we stepped back out into the street. I barely processed anything she said—I was too busy trying to figure out what kind of lunatic signs up for a job involving giant rats and optional casualty insurance.
The inn was thankfully close. Arden paid for the rooms without blinking, and the innkeeper gave us a key without asking questions. I suspected that Arden's whole scary-but-respectable presence probably paid for itself in silence.
When we reached our rooms, Arden glanced at me. "Take a bath first if you want. You've had a long day."
He wasn't wrong. I probably looked—and smelled—like I'd rolled through a compost heap. I nodded, already imagining sinking into warm water and pretending the last few days hadn't happened.
Then Sora tilted her head up toward him, eyes soft. "Master, may I share the bath with you later?"
Her voice was so gentle, it barely rose above a whisper. She looked... almost shy. Not embarrassed, but like this request meant more to her than she dared admit aloud.
And Arden—stoic, unreadable Arden—smiled.
Just a small one. Barely there. But real. I blinked, not sure I was seeing it right. Did his face even do that? Apparently, yes.
Sora lit up at his response. It was subtle, but the relief and quiet joy on her face made it feel like a sunbeam had cracked through the door. Then she looked at me, like she was suddenly aware I still there, her expression turning slightly sheepish.
I wasn't even sure why. She'd said nothing wrong. Still, I appreciated the gesture—it made the moment feel a little less like I was ruining something.
The bath was better than I expected. Honestly, it felt like a godly blessing in liquid form. Warm water, actual soap, and a moment where I wasn't covered in dirt, blood, or lingering emotions. I sank into it like it might forgive me for the week I'd just had.
For the first time in too long, I let my muscles unclench and my thoughts go quiet. No running, no worrying, no wondering what came next.
Just stillness. Warm, quiet stillness.
And gods, did it feel good.
Just as I was finally starting to enjoy the bath—like, actually enjoy it, not just pretend I knew how to relax—the door creaked open.
"Sora, didn't you say you wanted to take a bath togeth—"
That voice. Arden.
Panic struck like a lightning bolt wrapped in shame. I folded in on myself, limbs scrambling to make myself as small and invisible as humanly possible, which is pretty hard to do when you're soaking wet and stuck in a tub. My face went red like a tomato. I didn't even think—just curled into a ball.
Arden froze in the doorway. His expression shifted for a half second—glasses catching the light, mouth slightly open. And then he did something I wasn't prepared for.
He looked embarrassed.
Not dramatically so. No gasp, no fluster. Just a flicker of genuine surprise and—was that regret?
"Excuse me," he said quietly, then stepped back and closed the door like he hadn't just walked in on the world's worst surprise encounter.
I sat there, heart pounding, brain melting, wondering if I'd just experienced a new kind of humiliation. Of course that would happen. Why wouldn't it?
Groaning into my hands, I sank lower into the water like I could melt into it and never come back up. I hadn't even done anything wrong. This wasn't on me. I wasn't the one who forgot to knock. But still—why?
The rest of the bath was spent trying to force the memory out of my brain with sheer willpower. It didn't work.
When I stepped out, skin wrinkled and clean for the first time in too long, there was a bundle waiting outside the door.
Clothes.
Neatly folded. A blouse, dark trousers, a light cloak. Even a pair of boots that looked about my size. Not fancy—no embroidery, no flair—but new. Unworn. Clean.
There was a small piece of paper tucked beneath the folded clothes. The script was neat and careful, but I couldn't make sense of it—not a single letter stuck. I stared at it for a long moment, then glanced up just in time to see Arden turning a corner down the hall.
Maybe he left these for me.
That thought was strange. Unexpected. But somehow... it made sense. Still, he didn't seem like the type to make gestures like this at all. But maybe I didn't know what kind of type he was yet. Not really.
I picked up the clothes slowly, pressing the rough fabric to my chest. They didn't smell like anything I knew—not like smoke, or fear, the inside of a worn-down hut, or the last place I cried.
Just... clean. Like fresh cotton.
For the first time since the village, I wasn't wearing rags.
Later that evening, the three of us sat in the inn's dining hall. The warm light felt soft against the quiet clinking of plates and the silence that kept growing between us. Arden said sorry again—calm, quiet, like he was saying the weather report. Like it didn't bother him at all. Meanwhile, I was almost shaking with leftover shame. His not caring made me feel even worse.
And then there were the clothes. That quiet bundle.
I couldn't stop thinking about them.
He didn't have to do that. And he didn't have to say anything either—but he did. The note he had left with the clothes was just scribbles to me. I didn't know what it said. Couldn't read it.
Sora saved me from my swirling thoughts. She started talking—soft and sweet—about their past travels. The dangers, the chaos, the usual traveler talk. Her voice had a rhythm that felt like a story told by someone who had really fought monsters. I found myself smiling at the little parts I hadn't expected, letting myself relax a little.
Still... my mind kept jumping back to the day. A surprised Arden. Me soaked and panicked. The clothes waiting. The note I couldn't read. Ugh.
But the space between us grew softer, little by little. Arden didn't talk much, but somehow that helped. His silence wasn't cold—just quiet. And Sora was like a warm light, filling the empty spaces without pushing too hard.
By the time we finished eating, the mood had shifted from "worst social nightmare" to something closer to "awkward but okay dinner." I could live with that.
Back in my room, I fell onto the bed, feeling like exhaustion had tackled me. Everything ached. My thoughts wouldn't stop, and my pride was still bleeding somewhere in the corner, but the blankets were soft and the pillow felt like a quiet comfort. Slowly, my mind began to blur at the edges.
But Arden stayed there, too. Not just because of the bath thing—but because of the fight earlier. The way he moved. The quiet strength. And now this: the clothes, the note, and that small flicker of something real beneath it all, like a secret.
I sighed and pulled the blanket tighter.
Tomorrow was definitely going to be awkward.