I stood in line and tried to look like I belonged.
Tried to look like I wasn't waiting here with my heart already braced—like a kid about to step into a storm because someone else decided his name would be dragged into it.
At the far counter, Evelyn was working with that same expression she always wore. Calm. Sharp. Like her face was carved from the same wood as the desk.
A female knight stood across from her.
I shouldn't have been listening.
But my eyes flicked that way anyway, and my ears followed like they'd forgotten they belonged to me.
Evelyn leaned in just enough that her voice cut through the noise in a narrow line.
"—Lord Vonel—"
My stomach dropped.
Not dramatically. Not like some grand fainting spell.
Just a sudden, ugly weight inside me, like my insides realized something before my brain caught up and decided to panic.
The female knight replied, and I strained to catch more—anything.
But the guild chose that exact moment to roar.
A group near the quest board burst into laughter. Someone argued loudly about reward splits. A chair screeched. The receptionist bells chimed as papers slapped down. A metal mug hit a table with a clang that seemed to echo directly into my skull.
And Evelyn's words vanished into the mess.
I shifted my stance, trying to angle myself closer without looking like I was doing it. The line barely moved. I caught the blur of Evelyn's mouth moving again, but it didn't matter. I couldn't pick out a single syllable.
Just noise.
Just a thousand small lives and problems colliding, burying the one thing I needed under layers of sound.
Lord Vonel.
The line crept forward like it enjoyed testing my patience.
A woman in front of me complained about missing forms. A man behind me kept tapping his foot like he was counting the seconds until he could punch someone. Someone bumped my shoulder hard enough to make my ribs ache where yesterday's bruises were still deciding whether to fade or settle in.
I kept my hands open.
I kept breathing.
And when the line finally cleared, the receptionist looked up, and her eyes went wide.
"Oh—Trey!"
The way she said my name made it sound like we'd met a dozen times.
I froze for half a heartbeat, brain scrambling through faces. I didn't recognize her.
But she recognized me.
The receptionist in front of me was a little short, and the first thing I noticed—because it was hard not to—was the pair of fluffy cat ears perched atop her head. They twitched slightly, like they reacted to the noise around us. Her hair was cut into a neat bob, but on one side it gathered into a short twin-tail tied off with a cute ribbon that bounced when she moved. She wore the same uniform as the other receptionists—clean blouse, fitted vest, the guild's emblem stitched on with professional pride—but she somehow made it look lighter, like her energy refused to let the fabric sit stiffly.
And behind her, when she shifted in her chair, I caught the faint movement of a tail swaying—just a glimpse, quick as a thought.
She had this cheerful, bright feeling around her, like sunlight had wandered into the guild and decided to do paperwork.
I swallowed.
"Ah—g-good morning," I managed, and hated myself for the stutter the moment it left my mouth.
I didn't know how to address her. Miss? Ma'am? Receptionist?
I stared at her like a fool, caught between manners and panic.
Her ears perked again, and then she smiled like she'd seen this exact struggle before.
"Ah! Right, right—sorry, I always forget not everyone remembers everyone," she said quickly, and she leaned forward like she was sharing a secret. "I'm Ruru."
Her name landed with the soft ru sound twice, light and easy.
Ruru's smile didn't dim. "Nerissa told me a lot about you."
My throat tightened.
Of course she did.
Nerissa talked. Nerissa watched. Nerissa collected stories like other people collected coins, and I'd been making too many loud, messy ones lately.
"Oh," I said, because my brain refused to produce anything smarter. "Th-thank you. For… being friendly."
Ruru's tail flicked once behind her as if it approved of my attempt at politeness.
Then her gaze darted to the side—toward Evelyn's counter—and her smile softened into something gentler.
"You were talking to Evelyn earlier, right?" she asked.
I nodded.
"She's not actually a bad person," Ruru said quickly, as if she'd been waiting for the chance to defend her. "She just… does her job a little more seriously than the rest of us. Like really seriously. Sometimes she forgets people are people and not… paperwork." Ruru's nose wrinkled, and she lowered her voice. "But she's fair. In her own way."
Evelyn didn't look over. She kept stamping forms, expression unchanged, like the world could burn and she'd still finish her shift before reacting.
Ruru turned back to me—and then blinked, eyes going unfocused for a second like she'd lost the thread of her own life.
"…Wait," she said. "Why are you here again?"
The question came out so suddenly that I almost laughed.
Almost.
Then she straightened like she'd been jolted by an invisible bell. "No—sorry, sorry! Not in a rude way! I just—line, paperwork, names, and then suddenly—Trey!"
Someone behind me cleared their throat, loud enough to qualify as a complaint.
Ruru flinched and flashed a bright apology over my shoulder, then refocused on me with the intensity of someone determined to do her job properly now that she remembered she had one.
"So!" she said. "What can I help you with?"
I had a cover story prepared.
It sat in my mouth like dry bread.
I forced it out before my nerves could chew it to pieces.
"I was invited," I said, keeping my voice as steady as I could, "by Lyan. To attend a welcoming party. I just need directions."
It wasn't exactly a lie.
That was the only reason it came out clean.
Ruru froze.
Then her eyes lit up like someone had struck flint against them.
"Vonel Estate?" she blurted, like the words were too exciting to keep inside her head. "Wait—Vonel Vonel? And you know Young Master Lyan?"
The enthusiasm hit so fast I didn't have time to retreat.
"I… am his classmate," I said carefully.
"That counts!" Ruru declared, as if the difference didn't matter. "Oh my gosh, okay, okay—sorry. That's just—wow. Most people only hear about him from a distance."
She leaned closer, voice dropping into that eager gossip tone that carried even in a loud guild.
"Young Master Lyan is… kind of famous around here," she said. "Not the loud kind of famous, but the kind where people pretend they don't look, and then they look anyway."
I didn't respond, because I didn't know what the safe response was.
Ruru took my silence as permission.
"The Vonel family is one of the best nobles Azuris has," she said, and there was real pride in her voice, like she was talking about the city itself. "Prestigious knight lineage. For generations. Their heirs always end up… scary talented."
Her tail swayed behind her as she spoke, like even her body wanted to punctuate the point.
"Like, you know how some nobles hire knights because they have to? The Vonels don't do that. They produce them. Their bloodline is just… built for it. Most of their heirs become important figures sooner or later. People say the family's future is blindingly bright."
A bell chimed on the far side of the counter. Someone slapped down a request form hard enough to make the desk rattle. Ruru jolted, glanced sideways, then snapped her attention back to me as if refusing to let the world interrupt her.
"And the thing is," she continued, "they're… different. They don't have that weird 'commoners are dirt' attitude." She waved a hand like she was swatting away a bad smell. "They actually welcome commoners around them."
I blinked. "They do?"
"Mm-hm!" Ruru nodded so hard her ribbon bounced. "They think all people are equal."
That sentence landed softly, almost too neatly.
Ruru didn't notice my hesitation. She was already building on it.
"Well—equal in value, at least," she said, and her smile turned a little sharper. "They believe talent can come from anywhere. So if a commoner can help the Vonel family's future… they'll take that help. They don't care where it came from as long as it works."
There it was.
The other side of the coin.
My fingers flexed once at my side. Open. Relaxed. Controlled.
"And," Ruru added, like she couldn't resist, "most of them are kind of cold."
My gaze flicked up.
Ruru made a face like she was trying to phrase it politely. "Not cruel. Just… calculating. Like they're always doing math in their head about people and situations. And they hate losing."
She said that part with a little laugh, but it didn't sound like a joke.
"They chase victory like it's oxygen," she said. "Being the best is… normal for them. Expected. And if they aren't the best, they'll grind until they are."
I didn't need to ask where Lyan got his personality.
Ruru's ears flicked again, and her eyes widened as if she'd remembered a story she liked.
"Oh! And—this is the really interesting part—do you know about their Abyss explorations?"
My throat tightened.
"The Abyss Dungeon?" I repeated.
Ruru nodded fast. "Centuries ago, the Vonel family started joining Abyss expeditions. Not once, not twice. Like… constantly. Over and over. People say it's tradition. People say it's duty. People say it's obsession."
She leaned in closer, lowering her voice. "They're always looking for something."
"For what?" I asked before I could stop myself.
Ruru opened her mouth—then hesitated, and for the first time since she started talking, her confidence wavered.
"I don't know," she admitted. "No one really does. That's the point, I think. They don't tell people."
Someone behind me huffed loudly. Another voice muttered, "Move it already."
Ruru winced, ears flattening for a second, but she pushed on.
"There's a rumor," she said, and her tone turned into something half-excited, half-cautious, like she knew rumors could bite. "That their first ancestor—like the original family head—died in the Abyss. Hundreds of years ago."
My skin prickled.
Ruru's eyes shone with the kind of fascination people had for legends they didn't have to live.
"And ever since then," she continued, "they've never stopped going back. Like they're trying to finish something. Or fix something. Or…"
She trailed off, gaze drifting upward as if she could see the Abyss through the guild ceiling.
I stared at her, and the question formed in my head before I could stop it.
What did the first ancestor die for?
The thought didn't feel like curiosity.
It felt like a hook.
Ruru blinked, snapping back into herself, then clapped her hands softly like she was resetting her brain.
"Anyway!" she said brightly, as if she hadn't just dropped a piece of ancient tragedy into my lap. "Because the Vonel family is always busy—always out—Young Master Lyan comes to the guild a lot."
"He does?" I asked.
"Mhm!" Ruru nodded again, tail swishing. "At first I thought it was super weird. Like—noble son wandering into an adventurers' guild? What is this, a play?"
She grinned, then lowered her voice as if sharing another secret. "But he learns. He watches. He talks to people. Sometimes he asks questions that make your head hurt."
I couldn't stop the image from forming: Lyan, standing in the corner, listening, storing every answer like a blade being sharpened.
And under that—
Lyan, alone.
Not the boy who shoved me into walls.
Not the boy who smiled like pain was entertainment.
Just a noble heir surrounded by weaker people, bored and restless, unable to find anyone his age who could meet him where he stood.
It didn't excuse anything.
But it made him feel less like a monster and more like… a person shaped wrong by expectations.
Ruru's smile softened, like she genuinely liked him. "He's intense," she said. "But he's… not fake. You know?"
I didn't know.
I wasn't sure I wanted to know.
Ruru blinked again—then her face went blank for half a second.
"…Right!" she said suddenly. "Directions!"
Like she'd forgotten I existed as a customer and remembered I existed as a task.
She grabbed a small scrap of parchment and a pen, and her hand moved fast, sketching a rough map with practiced ease.
"Okay, so," she said, pointing with the pen tip. "You're here—the guild. You'll head toward the central market district, then you'll see the transition into the noble roads. You can't miss it—stone gets cleaner, people stop shouting, and suddenly everyone walks like they're afraid to scuff the ground."
I almost smiled.
Almost.
"And the Vonel Estate itself…" Ruru's eyes brightened again, like she couldn't resist turning directions into a story. "It's surrounded by this massive white stone wall. Like, massive. Ornate iron gates at the front."
I stared at the map.
It looked like a place built to be untouchable.
A fortress disguised as luxury.
Ruru slid the parchment toward me with both hands. "There! If you follow that route, you'll get there without getting lost."
I took it carefully, fingers brushing the paper like it might burn.
"Thank you," I said.
Ruru beamed. "No problem!"
Then, as if she'd remembered she was supposed to end interactions with a pleasant send-off, she added brightly—
"Have fun!"
The words hit me wrong.
Have fun.
I looked at her, and for a second I wanted to tell her.
Wanted to say: You have no idea what kind of 'fun' waits for me behind those gates.
But her smile was honest. Her ears perked. Her tail swayed, and she had no malice in her at all.
So I nodded instead.
"Yeah," I said quietly. "Fun."
I stepped away from the counter, the line swallowing the space I'd left, and the guild noise rushed back into me like a tide.
I didn't look at Evelyn again.
I didn't look for the female knight.
If I did, I might do something stupid.
Outside, the air slapped my face clean.
Azuris didn't hide its divisions.
You could walk from one kind of life to another in the span of a few streets.
The first part of my route took me through the places I knew too well—narrow alleys where the stone was chipped, where shopkeepers shouted over each other, where smoke from frying oil clung to your clothes. The air smelled like cheap spices and damp wood and people making do.
Then the streets widened.
The noise changed.
Vendors became quieter, voices more controlled. Boots turned into polished shoes. Carriages rolled smoothly over better stone, wheels barely rattling.
Even the air felt different—cleaner, like the city here had money to spend on invisibility.
Walls rose higher. Gates appeared where there used to be open paths. The architecture shifted into something more deliberate—tall columns, ornate carvings, large windows that weren't there to let in light but to let the world know whoever lived behind them didn't have to hide.
I kept walking.
My hand tightened around the parchment Ruru had given me until the paper creased.
I wasn't sure when my breathing changed.
Somewhere between the poor streets and the noble roads, the rhythm became heavier.
Like my body already knew it was approaching a boundary that wasn't just stone.
The white wall came into view before I reached it.
Ruru hadn't exaggerated.
It wasn't a wall meant to simply keep people out. It was a statement.
Massive white stone, smooth and bright even under the muted daylight, running long enough that my eyes couldn't take it in all at once. Ironwork curled along the top in decorative patterns that still looked sharp enough to tear skin.
And then—the gates.
Ornate iron, black as midnight, shaped with so much care it almost felt insulting. Like they'd spent the time making sure even their barriers were beautiful.
Beyond the bars, I could see a glimpse of the courtyard—wide stone, clean lines, and farther in, the suggestion of rooftops. Red tiles. White walls. A world that didn't have to worry about rain leaking through the ceiling.
I swallowed.
My feet didn't slow.
Not because I was fearless.
Because if I slowed, I might stop.
And if I stopped, I'd have to admit I didn't know how to move forward at all.
I reached the gate.
A shadow shifted.
Two guards stepped into my path like they'd been waiting for the exact moment my foot crossed an invisible line.
Their armor was pristine. Their posture wasn't stiff like guild guards—it was disciplined, trained into their bones. One of them rested a hand casually on the hilt of his sword, not as a threat, but as a reminder.
The other looked me up and down.
Slow.
Careful.
Like he was weighing whether I counted as a person or a problem.
"Halt," he said.
The word didn't echo, but it didn't need to. The gate itself made it sound final.
My fingers tightened around the creased parchment in my pocket.
My pulse jumped.
Because suddenly, standing in front of the Vonel gates, I understood something with brutal clarity—
Getting here was easy.
Getting in might be the first fight.