He took one step toward the door.
The gap I'd made to peek through suddenly felt like a spotlight, and I was the stupid thing standing in it.
My first instinct was to pull back and disappear into the hallway.
My second instinct reminded me I couldn't.
My legs still ached from Sir Erdallion's test. Not the normal ache from running or carrying crates—this was deeper, like my bones had been squeezed and then released and hadn't forgiven the world yet. If I tried to run, I'd trip. If I tripped, I'd make noise. If I made noise, I'd be caught anyway—only worse.
So I froze.
I stayed exactly where I was, fingers tight on the edge of the door, breath held like that would make me invisible.
Inside the training room, the older boy moved again—just once. Not a sword swing. Not a practice step.
He simply walked.
His footsteps were soft, but the room was quiet enough that I heard each one.
Closer.
Closer.
The sword hung at his side like it was part of him.
And then he was at the door.
I tried to shrink backward. My shoulders hit the wall behind me, and there was nowhere left to shrink.
He leaned slightly to look through the crack I'd made.
Moonlight from the high glass panels reflected off his eyes.
For a moment, we just stared at each other.
Then he spoke.
"Hey."
One word.
Not sharp. Not angry. Not suspicious, even.
Just… there.
It somehow made me more nervous.
My mouth opened, and my tongue forgot what it was supposed to do.
"I-I'm sorry," I blurted.
The older boy blinked. Up close, he looked younger than I'd first thought—still a kid, really, just taller and harder around the edges. Maybe fifteen. Around Todd's age.
"What are you sorry for?" he asked, genuinely confused.
I swallowed. My throat still felt rough from earlier, like the pressure had scraped it from the inside.
"I'm sorry—" I started again, then caught myself. The words came out messy but more controlled the second time. "I mean… I didn't mean to interrupt. Your training."
His expression shifted, and then he let out a small chuckle—quiet, like he didn't want to wake the guild.
"Interrupt?" he repeated, amused. "You're standing in a hallway. That's not exactly a siege."
I didn't know what to do with that, so I stood there, still half-caught behind the door like a thief who'd forgotten how doors worked.
He pushed the training room door open wider with one hand.
Only then did I see the bandages properly.
Not just on his forearms.
They wrapped both arms from wrist to near the elbow, thick and layered. Strips ran up past his biceps, disappearing under his shirt. More bandages crossed his shoulder and collarbone, peeking out at the neckline. Even his hands had thin wraps—like he was trying to protect his skin from the world.
The places where the bandage didn't cover were worse.
I caught glimpses as he shifted his grip: skin on his forearm that looked wrong—red-brown and uneven, shiny in spots, like a burn that hadn't decided whether it wanted to heal or stay angry forever.
There was a faint smell too, carried by the air near him. Not blood. Not sweat.
Ointment. Old cloth. Something medicinal.
He noticed my staring and didn't comment. He just stepped aside.
"If you're fine with it," he said, nodding toward the room, "come in."
My stomach flipped.
I was fine with it in the same way someone was fine with stepping onto a bridge they weren't sure would hold.
But he was already walking back into the room as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
I gulped and followed.
The moment I stepped through, my sense of space changed.
The training room was huge.
The ceiling rose high above like the inside of a small temple, supported by thick beams that vanished into shadow. Along the edges, a running track looped the room in a smooth oval, darker wood worn by countless feet.
And in the middle—
Grass.
A field of short, soft grass spread out like someone had stolen a piece of the outdoors and forced it to live inside stone and timber. It looked absurd. Beautiful. Almost wrong.
High above, glass panels opened the roof to the night sky. Moonlight spilled down in pale rectangles, turning the grass silver in places and leaving other parts dark.
On one side stood a wooden rack lined with practice weapons: swords, spears, staves, even a blunt axe. They were arranged neatly, like the room itself expected discipline.
The older boy walked across the grass without hesitation, barefoot like me. His steps made almost no sound.
I followed slower, feeling the grass press cool against my soles.
It was comfortable in a way I didn't expect.
It made me painfully aware that this was the first time I'd ever been in here.
I was inside the guild's heart.
He stopped near the center of the field and turned to face me.
Up close, his posture was relaxed, but not lazy—like a person who could spring forward at any moment if needed.
He sat down on the grass, legs folding easily, and looked up at me.
"Calm down," he said, as if it was the simplest instruction. "Sit."
I hesitated.
Then sat.
The grass was cool against the backs of my legs. It smelled clean and faintly earthy, like someone watered it regularly. That thought made the room feel even stranger—an indoor field cared for like it mattered.
The older boy rested his practice sword beside him and rolled his shoulders slightly, careful of the bandaged areas.
He glanced at me again, head tilted.
"You're new," he said, not as a question exactly, more as a test. "Right?"
"I…" I started, then stopped. My brain tried to figure out how to answer in a way that didn't sound stupid.
I didn't know if I counted as new. I'd been in the guild for months. But compared to people like him… yes.
He didn't push for an answer. Instead, he offered his hand with casual confidence.
"Ashrend Cyanoir," he said. "Just call me Ash."
His voice was easy. Friendly.
It didn't match the way his arms looked like they'd been through a fire.
I stared at his hand for half a second, then shook it.
His grip was firm but careful, like he knew exactly how much pressure to use without hurting himself.
"Trey," I said. "Trey Austere."
Ash's eyes flicked—just slightly.
Something in his expression shifted the moment I said my last name.
Not fear.
Recognition.
"Oh," he said softly, like a piece clicked into place.
My stomach tightened. "What?"
Ash waved one hand as if brushing the thought aside, but his gaze stayed sharper now.
"Nothing," he said. "Just… heard the name."
He leaned back on his hands, looking up at the roof glass for a moment as if collecting his thoughts.
"I'm the Guild Master's disciple," he said, like he was talking about the weather. "I train when I can. Usually at night. After quests."
My eyes widened before I could stop them.
Disciple.
Of Sir Erdallion.
The word carried weight all by itself.
Ash glanced at me and smirked slightly, like he'd seen my reaction a hundred times.
"It's not as dramatic as it sounds," he said. "Most days it's just pain and repetition."
He nodded at the practice sword beside him.
"Tonight was lighter. Just form work. I'm… healing."
He didn't say _from what_, but his bandages said enough.
I swallowed. "I heard the noise. The… clack. So I followed it."
Ash's smirk softened into something more neutral.
"Yeah," he said. "That happens. The guild gets quiet and your head gets loud."
That was… too accurate.
I shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware of how I must look: a ten-year-old trainee wandering halls at night like a ghost.
Ash studied me for a few seconds. Not in a judging way. In a measuring way.
Then he spoke carefully, like stepping around something sharp.
"You knew Myrina?" he asked.
My heart stopped for half a beat.
The night air felt colder.
I stared at him. "What?"
Ash's eyes held mine. His voice stayed gentle, but there was a tension under it now.
"Myrina Austere," he clarified. "Do you… know her?"
For a second I couldn't speak.
Myrina's name in someone else's mouth still felt wrong. Like it didn't belong anywhere but mine.
"She's my sister," I said finally. The words came out flat with shock. "My older sister."
Ash's face tightened.
He let out a slow breath.
"Right," he murmured. "You're… her brother."
I leaned forward without meaning to. "Do you know her?"
Ash hesitated.
Then he nodded once.
"I do," he said. "And—Trey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring her up like that."
My hands clenched into the grass, fingers curling around blades like they could anchor me.
Ash continued, voice still careful. "I heard about the expedition. People said…" He paused, swallowing. "People said she didn't come back."
He didn't say the last word, but it hung there anyway.
Dead.
Mourning.
Finished.
Something inside me snapped cold.
"She isn't dead yet," I said.
Ash blinked.
I didn't raise my voice. I didn't need to.
"She isn't dead," I repeated, sharper now. "Not to me. Not until I see it with my own eyes. And I'm going to be strong enough to find her."
Silence filled the space between us.
Ash stared at me like he hadn't expected a ten-year-old to talk like that.
Then his expression shifted into something complicated—respect mixed with guilt.
He bowed his head slightly.
"Sorry," he said again, quieter. "I… underestimated you. I thought I was being careful."
My chest rose and fell too fast.
Ash looked up at me, and his eyes weren't amused anymore.
"Myrina," he said, "is the reason I'm alive."
My breath caught.
He didn't rush. He didn't dress the words up.
He just said them like truth.
"My village," Ash continued, "was attacked."
I felt my skin prickle.
"A monster?" I asked, even though part of me already knew.
Ash nodded once.
"One night," he said. "No warning. No slow build. Just… fire."
My gaze flicked again to the burned skin on his arms.
Ash followed my look and flexed his fingers slightly, as if the movement reminded him he still owned them.
"It could breathe fire," he said. "Like a furnace. It burned houses, people, everything. Fast enough that you couldn't save anything. Strong enough that swords didn't matter if you couldn't get close."
I stared at him, horrified. "Monsters like that exist?"
Ash's mouth twisted in something like a bitter smile.
"Anything can happen," he said. "Miasma changes things. Makes monsters stronger. Wrong. Unpredictable."
He rubbed at one of his bandages absently, careful not to pull it loose.
"That's the problem," he went on. "You can prepare for a wolf. You can prepare for a boar. You can even prepare for a normal dungeon beast if you've studied it."
His eyes darkened.
"But miasma doesn't care what you studied."
A chill slid down my spine.
Ash took a slow breath, then continued.
"Myrina was passing through the region," he said. "She wasn't even there for us. Not originally. But she heard—someone got a message out before the village went quiet. She came anyway."
I could see it. Myrina hearing about people in trouble and charging toward it like the word _danger_ was an invitation.
Ash's voice softened.
"She saved me," he said. "Pulled me out when the roof was already burning. Carried me even though I was dead weight and the air was full of smoke. She fought long enough for me to live."
My throat tightened hard.
I didn't know what to say.
Pride rose first—bright and painful.
Then grief stabbed right after it.
Ash's gaze dropped to the grass.
"I couldn't save anyone else," he admitted. "By the time she arrived, it was already… too late. The monster—whatever it was—left. Like it had gotten what it wanted."
He swallowed.
"And I was left with this." He nodded at his arms, at the bandages, at the burned skin that still looked angry.
I stared at his wounds and felt something twist in me.
Not pity.
A shared kind of rage.
Ash lifted his eyes again, and there was something hard in them now.
"The Guild Master took me in," he said. "Helped me recover. Helped me train. Because if I go back to hunt that thing the way I am now, I'll just die."
His fingers curled into the grass.
"I want to be strong enough," Ash said quietly, "to make sure it never does that again."
The words landed heavy.
I understood them too well.
Different targets.
Same shape.
A vow built from loss.
My chest tightened, and for a moment, I felt less alone in the room.
Ash studied me again, then asked, "What rank are you?"
I blinked. "I'm… a trainee."
Ash chuckled once. "That's not what I asked."
Heat rose in my face. "I don't have a rank yet."
"Fair," he said, waving it away. Then, after a pause, he added, "I'm D-plus."
My eyes widened.
D-plus.
That was… high.
Not guild master high, not legendary high, but real-adventurer high.
Close to Myrina's.
I remembered Todd boasting once in the hall, grinning like he'd conquered the Abyss itself.
_F-plus._
One whole rank below Ash.
I blurted, "Do you know Todd?"
Ash's face immediately lit with amusement.
"Todd?" he repeated, like the name alone was a joke he liked. "Yeah. I know Todd."
He leaned back, and for the first time since mentioning my village and Myrina, his expression loosened.
"That guy," Ash said, shaking his head. "He's like a stray dog that refuses to stop following you."
I frowned. "He's not that bad."
Ash laughed quietly. "I didn't say it was bad."
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing like he was picking a memory.
"Okay," Ash said. "Here's one. Back when I was still in class, Todd had this habit of showing up early and polishing the practice swords like someone important was going to inspect them."
I blinked. "He did?"
"Oh yeah," Ash said, grinning. "Every morning. Serious face. Like the world would end if the rack looked messy."
Ash held up his bandaged hands and wiggled his fingers like he was performing.
"So one day," he continued, "I carved a tiny little notch into the handle of one practice sword. Just one. Nothing dangerous. Just enough that if you looked close you'd notice."
My stomach clenched. "Why?"
Ash's grin widened. "Because I wanted to see if he'd notice. He did."
Ash mimicked a shocked expression, eyes wide.
"He held the sword like it was a sacred relic," Ash said, "and he marched straight to the instructor and told her the weapon rack had been 'sabotaged by evil forces.'"
I stared.
Ash chuckled, shaking his head like he still couldn't believe it.
"And then," he said, "he started a whole investigation. He made charts. He assigned suspects. He tried to interrogate me like he was the captain of a guard unit."
A reluctant laugh escaped me—small, but real.
Ash's voice softened a little.
"He's funny," Ash said. "But he's also… serious in a way people don't respect."
I swallowed.
Ash looked up at the glass roof for a second, then back at me.
"Todd wants to be a hero," he said simply.
The words surprised me, even though they shouldn't have.
"He's not great at fighting," Ash continued. "Not naturally. He's… below average, honestly. He knows it."
My chest tightened at that, because it sounded too familiar.
"So he does the boring quests," Ash said. "Hauling, cleaning, escorting. He does what he can do. For years. Five years of it."
Ash rubbed his thumb over a bandage edge, thoughtful.
"I tried teaching him sword work," he admitted. "I really did. He can't do it. He doesn't have the timing. Doesn't have the instincts. The blade just… doesn't listen to him."
Ash looked at me.
"But he doesn't quit," he said. "He keeps moving forward even though he's weak."
My breath caught.
Those words hit like Nerissa's had.
_You didn't give up._
I stared down at the grass and felt my fingers tighten again, but this time it wasn't fear.
It was something brighter.
Todd, polishing swords and doing boring errands and refusing to quit.
It made my chest hurt in a different way.
Ash nudged my shoulder lightly with the back of his fingers.
"You look like you get it," he said.
I swallowed. "I… do."
Ash's gaze sharpened again, curiosity returning.
"So," he said, "why are you wandering the guild at night, Trey Austere?"
I opened my mouth and hesitated.
If I told him I couldn't sleep because my sister's name was a bruise, it would be true.
If I told him I followed the training sound because my head was loud, it would also be true.
So I said the simplest truth first.
"I heard you," I admitted. "And I… I couldn't not look."
Ash nodded like that made sense.
Then I added, "And earlier… I was tested."
Ash's brow lifted slightly. "Tested?"
My throat tightened automatically, remembering the weight, remembering the way air had become stone.
"By the Guild Master," I said.
Ash went still.
Not frozen like fear.
Still like attention.
He didn't speak right away. He only watched me closely, like he was checking whether I was lying, whether I was exaggerating, whether I was the kind of kid who made up stories to feel important.
And then he spoke carefully.
"That explains the legs," he said, glancing at me like he'd only just noticed how I stood slightly crooked to avoid pain. "And the wandering."
I blinked. "What?"
Ash shrugged. "Sometimes he… picks up new trainees. Not officially. Not publicly. Just—people he notices." His eyes narrowed slightly. "You look like one of those. But I wasn't sure."
My chest tightened.
"So you invited me in…" I started.
Ash smirked faintly. "Partly. And partly because you looked like you'd faint if I said boo."
Heat rushed into my face. "I wouldn't."
Ash's smirk widened. "Sure."
I exhaled sharply. It wasn't quite a laugh, but it was close.
Then I said it, because there was no point circling it anymore.
"He said he'll train me," I admitted. "When there's no class. He… offered a room. Food."
Ash's eyes widened.
For the first time since we met, he looked genuinely surprised.
"He took another disciple?" Ash said, and the words came out half question, half disbelief.
I flinched at the word _disciple_.
"I don't know what he called it," I said quickly. "He just said he'll train me. Aura. He said—"
Ash held up a hand, stopping me gently.
"I know what he said," Ash murmured, and his expression shifted into something grimly familiar. "Let me guess. You resisted his aura."
My throat went dry. "Yes."
Ash stared at me for a long moment.
Then, slowly, his face broke into a grin—half impressed, half horrified.
"Terrifying, right?" he asked.
A laugh escaped me, startled and weak.
"Yes," I said. "Terrifying."
Ash chuckled, shaking his head.
"He loves that test," Ash said. "Loves it. Like it's the funniest thing in the world."
"It didn't feel funny," I muttered.
Ash's grin turned into a full quiet laugh.
"It never does when you're the one under it," he said. "But he'll stand there afterward like he just watched a good play."
I pictured Sir Erdallion's face—calm, unreadable, like the pressure had been as casual as breathing.
Something in me loosened a fraction.
Ash looked at me again, and his voice went more serious.
"Listen," he said, "if he trains you, it's not a joke. It's not a favor. It's a path. And it's hard."
I nodded, throat tight.
"I know," I said, even though I didn't. Not really.
Ash watched me for a beat longer, then leaned back and let the seriousness fade again, like he didn't want to crush a kid who'd already been crushed today.
"Well," he said lightly, "welcome to the worst club in Azuris."
I snorted before I could stop myself.
Ash grinned. "There it is."
For a moment, sitting in the grass under moonlight, it almost felt normal. Two kids talking. Laughing quietly so the building wouldn't wake.
Then—
A voice came from the doorway.
Calm.
Familiar.
"Amusing."
The word wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
The air changed anyway.
Not as violently as before—no mountain slamming down—but enough that my lungs remembered pain. The lantern light near the door seemed smaller, like it was suddenly afraid to shine too brightly.
My body reacted before my mind did.
I froze.
Ash froze too—but in a different way. Straighter. Sharper. Like his spine had snapped into attention on instinct.
Sir Erdallion stood in the doorway, framed by darkness like it belonged to him.
Gold eyes swept over us, then settled on Ash.
"Ash," he said.
Ash's voice came out steady. "Sir."
Sir Erdallion's gaze shifted to me.
I forced myself to breathe.
My throat tightened, but I made the words anyway.
"Yes sir."
The Guild Master's expression didn't change.
Then he looked back at Ash.
"Show him something," Sir Erdallion said, tone casual—like he was telling someone to fetch water.
Ash's eyes flicked to me for half a heartbeat.
Not fear.
Not pity.
Something like _oh no_.
He swallowed once, then nodded.
"Yes, sir," Ash said.
Sir Erdallion stepped aside from the doorway, making space.
The training room suddenly felt much, much smaller.
And Ash reached for his practice sword.