They passed tiny homes with weak fences, and a few people sitting outside with mugs, speaking in low voices. Everyone looked tired. Not poor exactly—but like the town was always waiting for something bad to happen.
Sanè kept his responses short.
"Yes."
"Okay."
"I see."
Weah didn't seem bothered by his monotone. She kept walking beside him, matching his pace easily.
They moved deeper into the town until the lanterns became fewer, and the houses spread out more. The road turned into a narrow path between two old walls. The air here felt colder, and the sound of the inn behind them faded.
Sanè noticed that they were moving away from the main streets.
"This is secluded," he said quietly.
Weah glanced at him. "You noticed."
Sanè's voice stayed flat. "Why are we here?"
As they stand opposite a tall building.
Weah stopped walking.
The lanternlight was weaker here, but enough to see her face clearly.
She studied him for a moment. Then she spoke.
"I know what you are," she said softly.
Sanè didn't move. His body tensed, but his face remained hidden.
Weah's voice stayed calm. "You're a Nullborn."
Sanè blinked behind his mask.
Nullborn.
It was a new word, but the meaning hit him quickly. Born with nothing. Born empty.
Sanè asked, carefully, "What is that?"
Weah looked amused, like she knew he was pretending.
"A person born with no rank at birth," she explained. "No Ashborn spark. No Bloodfang gift. Nothing."
She took a slow step closer. "And yet… you still cultivate."
Sanè's heart beat once, heavy.
He knew she had figured him out. He had felt it in the inn. He had felt it in the way she looked at him now. He didn't have proof, but he didn't need proof. The feeling was enough.
"That's why you offered to show me around," he said.
Weah didn't deny it. "Yes."
Sanè stared at her. "How do you know?"
Weah's eyes softened slightly. "Because I've met a Berserker before."
Sanè felt a flicker of surprise. He kept it buried, but it moved under his skin.
Weah continued, "That one was much stronger than you."
Sanè wantee to ask questions. Where? When? Who? How strong?
But he said nothing.
Weah looked at him for a long moment, then asked, almost gently, "Do you want to know why I brought you here?"
Sanè's eyes narrowed. "Yes."
But before Weah could respond—
Another voice interrupted her, smooth and cold.
"It's because we were curious."
Sanè turned.
Another woman stepped out of the building.
She was even more beautiful than Weah in a sharper way—like her face had been carved rather than born. Her eyes were bright and direct, and her presence felt heavier.
Sanè recognized her immediately from the inn.
Weah didn't look surprised. She only sighed as if she had expected this.
The new woman stepped closer and spoke as if she was stating something obvious.
"When we saw you at the inn, out of the four masked ones…" her gaze flicked over Sanè's body like a blade measuring distance, "…your aura stood out."
Sanè forced his voice steady. "Who are you?"
The woman smiled faintly. "Peah."
Sanè stared at her, then at Weah.
"Weah and Peah," he said quietly. "Sisters."
Weah's smile returned. "You're not slow."
Peah's expression didn't soften. She looked like a person who didn't laugh easily.
Then both sisters released their aura.
It wasn't a dramatic explosion. It was worse.
A heavy pressure rolled outward, thick and crushing, like invisible hands pressing down on Sanè's shoulders and chest. The air itself seemed to bend.
Wyrmscourge aura.
Strong.
Refined.
Oppressive.
Sanè felt it hit his body like a wave. His breath tightened for a moment. The path beneath his feet felt heavier.
But he didn't panic.
He didn't show fear.
He didn't step back.
He stood still, as if their aura was only wind.
Weah's eyes widened slightly. Peah's gaze sharpened, surprised in spite of herself.
They had expected him to flinch.
They had expected him to crumble.
Instead, Sanè looked untouched.
Both sisters were clearly stronger than him. They could kill him if they wanted. That much Sanè understood. But it also seemed they didn't understand him.
And that made the situation more dangerous.
Sanè's voice tightened. "What do you want?"
Weah released her aura slightly, but Peah kept hers steady. "We told you," Weah said. "Curiosity."
Sanè's fists clenched beneath his cloak. "Curiosity doesn't bring you into shadows with pressure like this."
Peah's eyes narrowed. "Then answer a question."
Sanè stared. "What question?"
Peah stepped closer. Her voice was flat, without kindness.
"Why do you fight?" she asked. "Why become a Berserker?"
Sanè hesitated. His mind flickered back to the past, hard and sharp.
When he had been nothing.
When people looked through him like he was air.
When he was treated like waste because he had no rank.
He remembered anger. He remembered the shame. He remembered the heat of revenge growing in his chest like a sickness.
He had wanted to return to Dravenloch one day and make them regret every laugh, every insult, every kick.
But before he could even begin, the Maker's cursed beast had attacked.
The city had suffered without his hand.
And since then, revenge had become… quieter. Not gone. Just buried.
Peah watched him like she could see the memory moving behind his mask.
She continued, "We met a Berserker like you once. A rogue one."
Sanè's voice was low. "Rogue."
Peah nodded. "He fought someone stronger than us. He went toe-to-toe with a Hellforged expert..which was quite surprising, cause at first he gave no aura at all."
Sanè's chest tightened again, but he stayed silent.
Peah added, "We overheard him saying something before he left."
Weah's smile faded.
Peah's voice sharpened. "He said the Masked Ones are just like the Five Great Families."
Sanè felt something shift inside him, and uncomfortable feeling.
Just like the Five Great Families.
Skull. Vermin. Maverick. And the others he didn't fully know.
The families that ruled. The families that crushed people below them and called it order.
Sanè's voice came out slower now. "That's why he left."
"Yes," Peah said. "He hated you for it."
Sanè clearly understood that when she said 'we' she was talking about the Masked One's.....but he didn't know what to say. He was surprised by the claim. But he also couldn't deny the feeling that power always changed people, no matter what mask they wore.
He thought again about why he fought.
Not revenge.
Not only revenge.
Something wider.
He finally answered, his voice was quiet but steady.
"I fight for the Nullborn," Sanè said. "For the empty ones. The ones the world throws away."
He lifted his chin slightly. "I need to get stronger to do that."
Weah chuckled softly, clearly amused, but she didn't speak.
Peah stared at him for a long moment, then said flatly, "The Masked Ones are the same as the Five Great Families."
The hatred in her tone was clear.
She didn't just dislike the families.
She despised them.
Sanè didn't respond. He didn't agree. He didn't argue.
But he took it in.
He held the words inside him like a warning.
Because if Peah was right… then the path Sanè had chosen might lead him into becoming the very thing he hated.
And that thought—more than their aura—pressed down on him as the night wind moved through the narrow path like a whisper from a grave.