Raven's— POV
The city had already begun to quiet by the time I left the palace behind.
Torches lined the streets like sentinels of fading flame, their light flickering against stone walls smoothed by centuries of passing hands. Shadows stretched and shifted with every step I took, pooling in narrow alleys and slipping away again as if the night itself were breathing. Somewhere in the distance, a tavern door slammed shut, laughter spilling briefly into the street before vanishing into memory.
The day was over.
I welcomed the silence that followed.
Each step sent a dull protest through my body. Muscles burned beneath my skin, fatigue settling deep into my bones where rest could not easily reach. Beneath that familiar ache lay something worse—the emptiness. Mana drained nearly to its limit, leaving behind a hollow pressure that made even breathing feel heavier than it should have.
I had recovered earlier.
But recovery was not the same as replenishment.
I needed to rest a bit after training with Kara and Princess Lyria, but I pushed my body to its limits when I trained with my master after.
I forced my pace to remain steady, measured. Controlled. If I slowed, even slightly, the exhaustion waiting at the edges would rush in all at once, and I could not afford that—not here, not now.
So I didn't allow it.
Not yet.
The palace lights faded behind me long ago , replaced by narrower streets and older buildings, until at last the orphanage came into view.
Its stone walls were worn, softened by age rather than neglect, their edges rounded by time and care. Lantern light spilled warmly from the windows, painting the front garden in gold and amber. The laughter that usually echoed from this place was absent now; the children had long since been guided inside .
Only the old oak remained awake.
It stood at the center of the garden like a quiet guardian, its thick branches swaying gently in the night breeze, leaves whispering secrets only the wind could understand.
Home.
I exhaled, a breath I hadn't realized I was holding—then froze.
Someone stood at the gate.
For a fraction of a second, my hand instinctively shifted toward the hilt of my sword.
She stood straight-backed beneath the lantern light, posture disciplined and unmistakably alert. Her clothing was formal, practical—hunter's leathers reinforced at the shoulders and forearms, worn not for show but for battle. A sword rested at her hip, polished but not ornamental, its presence natural on her frame.
Ayla Ferrin.
She hadn't noticed me yet—or perhaps she had, and simply hadn't turned. Her gaze was fixed on the orphanage door, expression unreadable, jaw set with the kind of patience learned through years of standing watch in hostile lands.
Morivaine stirred faintly in my mind.
Well, well, she murmured. It seems tonight is determined to test you.
I didn't respond.
Instead, I stepped closer, boots crunching softly against the gravel path.
Ayla turned.
Lantern light caught her features—sharp eyes, calm and assessing, the face of someone who had survived more battles than she cared to count. For a heartbeat, we simply looked at each other, the silence between us thick with history.
"You're late," she said at last.
Her voice was steady. Not accusing. Not gentle.
Just… familiar.
I tilted my head slightly. "You're early."
One corner of her mouth twitched, almost a smile—but it didn't reach her eyes.
The night breeze stirred between us, rustling the oak's leaves overhead.
I straightened, forcing my body into stillness despite its protests. "What do you want, Ayla?"
She studied me for a moment longer before answering.
"To talk," she said. "If you'll let me."
Morivaine chuckled softly in the back of my mind.
" It seems your quiet night has other plans."
"Talk?" I echoed, unable to hide the note of surprise in my voice.
"About what, exactly?"
Ayla exhaled slowly, the sound carrying something between patience and resignation. She stepped closer without waiting for permission and patted my shoulder—twice—an old, familiar gesture that made my spine stiffen despite myself.
"You're always in a hurry," she said lightly. "Always moving, always running. Let's go somewhere and talk properly." Her eyes gleamed with quiet confidence. "I know the perfect place."
I hesitated.
The exhaustion pressing against my ribs chose that moment to make itself known again, a dull wave of weakness rolling through my limbs. I kept my expression neutral, but my voice softened when I spoke.
"Can we postpone this until tomorrow?" I asked. "You can see I'm not exactly in the best condition tonight."
Ayla tilted her head, studying me the way hunters study wounded prey—not cruelly, but thoroughly. Then she smiled.
Unfortunately, it wasn't a smile that promised mercy.
"Sadly, no," she said, suddenly gripping my arm and tugging me forward with unexpected strength. "Tomorrow won't work."
"Ayla—" I stumbled half a step, then caught myself, irritation flaring. "There's no need to drag me. I can walk on my own."
She laughed, bright and unapologetic, loosening her grip but not stopping. "I know. But you would've tried to escape otherwise."
I scowled at her back as we passed through the orphanage gate and onto the street.
"You always were infuriatingly perceptive."
"And you always were terrible at resting," she shot back over her shoulder.
I sighed, adjusting my pace to match hers as we headed toward the city proper. The lantern-lit streets welcomed us once more, the night deepening into something softer, quieter. Shops were shuttered, windows dark, and the stones beneath our boots still held the warmth of the day.
Morivaine stirred lazily in my mind.
" She has a point, you know, the entity mused. You do tend to flee when conversations get uncomfortable."
I ignored her.
Ayla slowed slightly as we walked, her stride easing into something more casual. "Relax," she said. "I'm not taking you anywhere dangerous."
"That's not reassuring coming from a hunter," I muttered.
She laughed again, softer this time. "You'll survive. You always do."
I wasn't sure if that was meant as comfort—or accusation.
We continued deeper into the city, shadows stretching longer with every turn, the quiet hum of night wrapping around us like a held breath.
Whatever she wanted to say, I could already tell It wasn't something she intended to let go easily
After walking for a while, Ayla finally slowed—and then stopped.
I lifted my gaze.
The building in front of us was old, its wooden sign creaking softly as it swayed in the night breeze. The paint had long since faded, the edges worn smooth by time and weather. Warm golden light spilled from its windows, accompanied by the familiar blend of voices, laughter, and the clink of mugs.
A tavern.
An old one.
For most people, it would have been nothing special.
For me—it was heavy with memory.
I hadn't realized how deeply it was etched into me until that moment. Back when we were still part of the Hunters' Guild, Ayla had dragged me here every time we returned from a mission. Bruised, exhausted, sometimes bleeding—we would still end up at this place, surrounded by other hunters, noise, and forced cheer.
I stared at the entrance longer than necessary.
"…You brought me here," I said quietly.
Ayla glanced at me, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. "Of course I did."
We stepped inside.
The warmth hit me first—both literal and emotional. The tavern was crowded, packed with people, most of them unmistakably hunters. Worn armor rested against chairs, weapons leaned against walls, scars and laughter freely shared over ale and food. This place wasn't just a tavern.
It was a base.
A refuge.
The air smelled of roasted meat, smoke, old wood, and spiced alcohol. Conversations overlapped in chaotic harmony, and for a moment, it felt like stepping into another life entirely—one I had once lived.
We made our way toward the bar.
The woman behind it looked up, her face lighting up instantly when she saw Ayla.
"Well, I'll be damned!" she exclaimed, her voice loud and warm. "Ayla! I didn't expect to see you tonight—I thought you were busy."
Ayla leaned casually against the bar, smiling. "Good evening. And yes, I was busy for the past few days. Just finished a job."
She paused, then straightened with unmistakable excitement.
"But that's not important," she said brightly. "Look who I brought with me."
The tavern owner's gaze shifted to me.
For a second, she simply stared.
Then her eyes widened.
"…Raven?" she breathed, disbelief coloring her voice. "Is that really you?"
I felt something twist in my chest—nostalgia, unease, maybe both. I managed a small, restrained smile.
"Good evening, Maris," I said.
(The name fit her—solid, warm, enduring. Just like the tavern.)
In an instant, she abandoned the bar and hurried toward me, wrapping her arms around me with surprising strength. The hug was tight, almost crushing—like she was afraid I might disappear again if she let go.
"I thought I'd never see you again," she said, her voice thick with emotion.
She stepped back, lifting her head to look up at me. I'd forgotten how much taller I was than her now.
"Where have you been all this time?" she demanded, eyes searching my face. "Are you staying this time?"
Before I could answer, Ayla stepped in smoothly, placing a hand on Maris's shoulder.
"Go Easy on her." she said with a laugh. "Let's sit first before you interrogate her."
Maris blinked, then laughed at herself. "You're right—sorry. I was just so surprised and happy I forgot my manners."
She gestured toward an open table near the bar. "Come on, both of you. Sit. Drinks are on the house."
I followed them quietly, the noise of the tavern wrapping around me like an old, familiar cloak.
I wasn't sure how long I would stay.
But for the first time that night—
I didn't feel like running.
We chose a table tucked into the back of the tavern, where the noise softened into a distant hum rather than a roar. The air was warmer there, heavy with the scent of wood and spice, but quieter—mercifully so. I let myself sit, the bench creaking beneath my weight, and for the first time since entering, allowed my shoulders to relax.
Maris approached us, wiping her hands on a cloth, her expression open and curious.
"So," she said warmly, "what can I get you two?"
Ayla didn't hesitate. "Something to drink, please," she replied easily, as if the answer were obvious.
Before Maris could turn away, I spoke, my voice calm but firm. "For me—no drink. If you don't mind, could you bring me something to eat instead?"
The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment.
Ayla turned sharply toward me, her brows knitting together. "What do you mean you're not drinking?" she asked. "We came to a tavern to drink."
I met her gaze without flinching. "I live surrounded by children," I said quietly. "I don't want to come back drunk. And I don't want to be a bad example for them."
For a brief second, it looked like Ayla was about to argue—her mouth opened, the familiar fire flaring in her eyes. Then she hesitated. Whatever response she'd prepared never came.
Maris burst out laughing.
"Oh, this takes me back," she said, shaking her head fondly. "Seeing the two of you like this—it's just like old times. Ayla dragging you here after every mission, and you pretending you didn't want to be here."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Do you remember when she used to force you to drink, even though you were barely fourteen ?"
I didn't deny it. The memory surfaced unbidden—sticky tables, loud laughter, a mug shoved into my hands far too big for me.
"I remember," I said with a smile .
Maris smiled at me with something softer now. "Don't worry. I've got something light. It won't get you drunk."
She straightened, already turning back toward the bar. "I'll bring it to you—and some food. Stay a while. Once the crowd thins, we'll talk properly."
As she walked away, I watched the lantern light catch in her hair and felt the strange pull of the past tug at me.
So much had changed.
And yet—
Some things, apparently, refused to fade.
The smell of warm bread and herbs reached me first.
Maris returned with a simple plate—stew, dark bread, something hearty enough to settle an empty stomach—and set it gently in front of me. For Ayla, she placed a full mug of beer on the table, its foam still fresh, cold condensation already gathering along the sides.
Ayla didn't waste a second.
She lifted the mug, took a long, generous swallow, and leaned back with a deep, satisfied sigh. "There is absolutely nothing better," she declared, "than cold beer after a long, brutal mission."
I picked up my spoon slowly, watching her more than the food. "What kind of mission was it?" I asked calmly.
Ayla groaned dramatically, dropping her head back for a moment. "Ahhh… don't even ask. I don't want to remember it."
She leaned forward again, resting her elbow on the table, exhaustion finally slipping through her usual bravado. "Southern border patrol. A full week. No rest. Direct orders from the King."
I paused mid-bite.
She continued, her voice rough with fatigue. "There's been a massive increase in monster activity. They keep trying to push into our lands. You kill ten, twenty, fifty—more just keep coming. It never ends."
Her fingers tightened around the mug. "The King's paying the Hunter's Guild well to hold the line, but no amount of coin makes standing watch for a week straight any easier."
She exhaled sharply. "Honestly? You were smart to leave the Guild."
That earned a quiet hum from me, but I didn't respond.
Ayla drained the rest of her mug in one motion, slammed it down, and immediately signaled for another. When the fresh beer arrived, she didn't drink it right away.
Instead, she stood.
Before I could stop her, she raised her mug high above her head and shouted, loud enough to cut through the tavern's noise.
"A toast! To Raven—who's finally come back to us after two damn years!"
For half a heartbeat, the tavern went silent.
Then—
"TO RAVEN!"
The shout erupted from every corner.
Chairs scraped. Mugs lifted. Voices overlapped.
"Welcome back, Raven!"
"Damn, it's been a long time!"
"Oi, Raven! Glad you're still alive!"
"About time you showed your face again!"
I froze.
Dozens of eyes turned toward me—hunters, veterans, familiar faces weathered by scars and years of battle. People I had fought beside. People I had left behind.
I managed a small smile, lifting my hand slightly. "Thank you everyone ," I said with a smile , my voice steady despite the tightness in my chest. "Really."
The noise gradually settled back into laughter and conversation, though the energy lingered, warmer now—charged with memory.
I turned sharply toward Ayla, lowering my voice. "Could you stay quiet for one single second?" I asked flatly.
She burst into loud laughter, nearly spilling her drink. "What? We're just welcoming you back!"
Before I could reply, a familiar voice echoed softly in my mind, dripping with amusement.
"This looks incredibly fun," Morivain said dryly.
I sighed, rubbing my temple as I took another bite of food. "Of course it does," I muttered under my breath.
Morivain chuckled. "You always did have a talent for walking back into chaos."
I leaned back slightly in my chair, watching Ayla laugh with a nearby hunter, the tavern alive around us—too alive.
"It looks like," I said quietly, exhaling through my nose, "this is going to be a very long night."
And something told me—
It was only just beginning.
I set my spoon down once my plate was finally empty, the warmth of the food settling heavily in my stomach. The noise of the tavern washed around us—laughter, clinking mugs, low conversations—but for the first time since we'd arrived, I felt grounded enough to focus.
"Well?" I asked, leaning back slightly in my chair as I looked at Ayla. "What was it you wanted to talk about?"
She didn't answer right away.
Instead, Ayla lifted her mug—her fifth by now—and took a long drink, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand afterward. "Wait a moment," she said casually. "She'll be here any second."
I raised an eyebrow. "You're waiting for someone?"
Ayla smiled, slow and knowing, and turned her gaze toward the tavern entrance. "Yeah."
Before I could press further, she tilted her chin. "There she is."
I followed her line of sight.
The door opened, letting in a brief breath of cool night air—and with it, a presence that was impossible to miss.
The woman who stepped inside was tall, her long black hair falling freely down her back like a curtain of ink. Lantern light caught in her eyes—brown, sharp, and bright with awareness. She wore the official attire of the Hunter's Guild: fitted leather trousers, a close-cut leather shirt that spoke of practicality rather than decoration, and a sword strapped securely across her back.
She moved with the confidence of someone accustomed to command.
Her gaze swept the tavern once before finding us.
She approached our table and offered a small, polite smile. "Good evening," she said. "I hope you don't mind if I join you."
I rose to my feet immediately, posture straight, instinct guiding me before thought could interfere. "Good evening, Commander Samantha," I replied evenly. "Of course—you're welcome to join us."
A short laugh escaped her. "No need for the formalities," she said as she stepped closer. "I haven't been your commander since you left the Guild."
Her eyes lingered on me, studying—not critically, but with unmistakable intensity. Then she smiled again, softer this time.
"Look at you," she continued. "You've changed. Two years, and you've grown taller than me."
Her gaze sharpened, expression shifting into something more serious. "And that aura…" she said quietly. "It's strong. Very strong. I can see it clearly now."
There was no exaggeration in her tone.
I allowed myself a small smile. "Not stronger than yours," I replied. Then I gestured toward the seat. "Please, sit."
I slid my chair out for her and pulled another over for myself, the wood scraping softly against the floor. When we sat—three of us gathered around the table—the air felt heavier, charged with old familiarity and unspoken understanding.
Ayla leaned back, clearly pleased with herself, watching the two of us with a grin.
Whatever this conversation was going to be—
I had a feeling it wasn't going to be simple.
"So," Samantha said at last, lifting her mug and taking a measured sip of beer, her gaze steady on me, "what have you been doing these days, Raven?"
The question was casual, but I knew her well enough to hear what lay beneath it.
"Now that you're back," she continued, resting her elbow against the table, "are you planning to rejoin the Guild?"
I smiled faintly and shook my head. "Nothing definite," I replied. "I'm still training with my master . But no—I don't intend to join again. I prefer working on my own."
Samantha hummed in approval and reached out, patting my shoulder once in an almost familiar gesture. "That's a good decision," she said. "If I were in your place, I wouldn't return either."
She leaned back slightly, studying me. "So you're still training with Elyra Voss," she added. "She's an exceptional hunter. I was eighteen when I first saw her—right after I joined the Guild. Back then, she was already a legend."
A shadow of nostalgia crossed her face.
"Her departure was a great loss to the Guild," Samantha went on. "What is Elyra doing now?"
"Nothing," I said quietly. "At least, not until recently. After leaving the Guild, she stayed away from everything. But a short while ago, she accepted a position."
Samantha's eyebrows lifted. "Oh?"
"She's begun training the King's soldiers."
Samantha let out a low whistle. "Wow. That's unexpected."
She shook her head slowly. "I never imagined she'd accept something like that. She despised nobles—especially the royal family."
Then her gaze sharpened, and a knowing smile tugged at her lips. "Speaking of the King," she added lightly, "Ayla mentioned that you've grown close to Princess Lyria."
My fingers tightened around my cup.
"And," Samantha continued, her tone turning playful, "there are rumors going around. That you saved the princess's life. Don't even think about denying it."
I turned my head slowly and stared straight at Ayla.
She met my gaze—and promptly burst into laughter, completely unrepentant.
I let out a quiet breath and shook my head. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I said calmly. "They're just rumors. I'm not close to the princess."
I paused, then added carefully, "I only teach her fencing. Nothing more."
Samantha gave me a long, skeptical look.
"Mm-hm," she said at last. "Of course you do."
She raised her mug again. "All right. I won't ask any more questions. I won't interfere in your life."
Then she drank in silence.
But the way her eyes lingered on me told me she didn't believe a word I'd said.
Samantha lifted her glass and eyed mine with open confusion.
"What is that supposed to be?" she asked, tilting her head.
Ayla burst into laughter beside me. "It's just water."
Samantha stared at me, then slowly raised an eyebrow. "You came to a bar to drink water?"
She leaned closer, disbelief written plainly across her face. "You're eighteen and you still don't drink alcohol? Don't tell me you've never had a drink in your life."
I smiled faintly. "I've tried it a few times," I said calmly. "I didn't like it, so I stopped. Besides, I get drunk far too easily. That alone is reason enough."
Samantha fell silent, staring at me as if I'd just confessed to something unthinkable.
Ayla, on the other hand, nearly choked on her laughter.
Before I could react, Samantha leaned toward me, a half-full mug of beer in her hand, her lips curling into something dangerously playful.
"As your former captain," she said with mock severity, "I order you to drink. You can't ignore a captain's command—or there will be consequences."
I leaned back instinctively. "You said yourself five minutes ago that you're not my captain anymore."
I met her eyes and smiled. "So what changed in the last five minutes?"
Samantha tried—and failed—to look serious. A grin betrayed her immediately.
"It doesn't matter how much time passes," she said. "You were under my command once. Which means I was your captain then—and I'll always be your captain."
I leaned back even farther, raising my hands slightly in surrender. "Fine. I accept that you're my captain forever," I said lightly. "But I truly can't drink."
Ayla sat there, shoulders shaking, struggling to suppress her laughter.
At that moment, Maris approached our table, balancing a tray with three glasses. Two large mugs of beer went down in front of Samantha and Ayla. The third—identical in size—was not beer at all. Its liquid shimmered a pale crimson under the lantern light.
Maris reached out and lightly smacked the back of Samantha's head—not hard, but firm enough to make a point.
"Leave Raven alone," she said flatly. "She doesn't want to drink. She's living in an orphanage with children now. She doesn't want to be a bad influence."
She slid the red drink toward me. "This is a mix of sour cranberry and strawberry," she explained. "There's only a very small amount of alcohol in it. No matter how much you drink, you won't get drunk."
I looked up at her and smiled. "Thank you. It looks delicious."
Maris patted my shoulder warmly. "Don't worry—drink as much as you want. Samantha will be paying for it."
She gestured casually toward Ayla. "And for every drink Ayla ordered, too."
Samantha froze.
"Me?" she said, pointing at herself in shock. "Why me?"
"Because you're their captain," Maris replied simply with warm smile .
She didn't wait for an argument.
Maris turned and walked back toward the bar, the finality in her steps making it clear that this decision was not open for discussion.
I lifted my glass toward Samantha with a small, satisfied smile. "Thank you for the drink, Captain."
I took a sip.
Ayla laughed openly now.
Samantha stared at the number of empty mugs in front of Ayla, then let out a long, defeated sigh.
"Hey, Ayla—could you slow down a little?" Samantha said, her gaze flicking anxiously toward her coin pouch. She lifted it slightly, as if weighing her own future. "If you keep drinking like that, I'm going to end up bankrupt."
Ayla laughed, loud and carefree, raising her mug in the air. "Relax. If we manage to seal the dungeon tomorrow, you'll be rich."
Samantha let out a tired sigh. "That's if we succeed. Don't get your hopes up. It's a powerful dungeon—dangerous. Very dangerous."
I frowned slightly, watching the exchange. "What are you two talking about?" I asked.
Ayla turned to me. "That," she said, pointing her mug vaguely between herself and Samantha, "is what I wanted to talk to you about tonight."
Samantha nodded and leaned back in her chair, her expression shifting from playful to serious. "I'll explain," she said.
"There are three extremely powerful dungeons," she continued. "Because of their rank, they contain rare weapons, ancient artifacts, and gemstones worth more than most kingdoms could afford. Naturally, everyone wants what's inside them."
She paused, her voice lowering.
"Multiple guilds have tried. Veteran hunters. Elites. Even some of the strongest teams we know."
Her fingers tightened around her glass. "None of them succeeded. And no one who entered ever came back alive."
I felt the mood at the table darken.
"So," I said slowly, my voice firm, "you're going after these dungeons too. Risking your lives for money."
Ayla straightened immediately, shaking her head. "No—no, don't misunderstand us," she said quickly. "We're not doing this for money."
Samantha sighed again, rubbing her temple. "You already know this, Raven," she said. "Dungeons have time limits."
"If a dungeon isn't sealed within three months of its appearance, everything inside it pours out. Monsters—high-rank ones. They slaughter everything in their path. Entire regions fall into chaos."
She looked at me directly.
"And these gates are close to the city."
I felt a cold knot settle in my chest.
"When did they appear?" I asked. "And where?"
Ayla's usual grin was gone now. "One gate on the eastern border reaches its three-month limit in two days," she said quietly. "The other two are on the northern border. They'll reach that limit in four days."
I leaned back slightly, absorbing the weight of her words.
"…Then why are you telling me this?" I asked.
Samantha met my gaze, her expression steady. "Because we're looking for strong individuals to recruit," she said. "People capable of helping us seal the dungeons before it's too late."
She hesitated for a moment, then added, "We originally planned to hire heroes from another world—but they aren't in the city right now. They're deep in demon territory."
She took a slow breath.
"So," she said, "I want to hire you , I know you were strong two years ago, and now you're even stronger ."
The tavern noise faded into the background.
For a few seconds, I said nothing—only stared into the dark red liquid in my glass as thoughts churned quietly in my mind.
And in that silence, I knew—
Whatever choice I made next would change far more than just this night.
Samantha's expression shifted, the faint smile she had worn earlier fading into something heavier—something worn by responsibility.
"Every other guild has stopped trying," she said quietly.
Around us, the tavern was still loud with laughter and clinking mugs, but her words carved out a pocket of silence at our table. When she spoke again, her voice was firmer, sharper—no longer that of a former captain reminiscing over drinks, but of a leader standing at the edge of failure.
"Our guild is the last line of defense," she continued. "If we don't act, there will be no one left to protect the city."
She straightened, shoulders squared.
"And we're prepared to give our lives to protect it. The city. The people inside it."
I watched her in silence, my face carefully blank, offering nothing—no sympathy, no agreement.
Inside my head, Morivaine's voice slipped in, smooth and observant.
This sounds extremely dangerous, she said. I wouldn't advise joining them.
I answered her without shifting my expression, my gaze steady on Samantha.
I don't intend to join them, I replied flatly. And I don't care what happens to this city or anyone in it.
Morivaine laughed softly, then louder—amused.
How cruel, she teased. I didn't realize you were so cold-hearted. What about the people in the orphanage?
Her tone sharpened deliberately.
And what about Princess Lyria?
My brows twitched—just for a heartbeat.
Morivaine noticed.
She laughed openly now, delighted.
There it is.
I tightened my jaw. What are you trying to do? I snapped back internally. Are you trying to guilt me into agreeing? I already said I won't join them .
Before I could retreat further into myself, Samantha reached across the table and grasped my hand.
The sudden warmth startled me.
"Please, Raven," she said earnestly. "We really need someone like you. Someone strong."
Her grip tightened slightly—not forceful, but desperate.
"I know you have people you want to protect too," she continued. " and If we face monsters beyond our ability—if the situation becomes truly dangerous—we'll retreat immediately. I promise."
I looked down at our joined hands.
Images rose unbidden.
Small beds lined up in dim rooms.
Children's laughter in a quiet garden.
A silver-haired princess gripping a wooden sword with trembling determination.
I exhaled.
Then squeezed her hand back.
"Alright," I said, a small, tired smile forming on my lips. "I'll join you."
Samantha's eyes widened.
"I have a big family here," I added softly. "And I won't let anything happen to them. I want to protect them ."
Relief washed over her face, followed by genuine gratitude.
"Thank you," she said. "Truly. We need strong people on this mission more than ever."
She hesitated, then added, "The guild will compensate you even if the mission fails."
I smiled faintly. "That won't be necessary."
Then I straightened slightly, my tone sharpening again.
"Now," I said, "tell me more about these dungeons."
And somewhere deep inside, I felt Morivaine smile—quietly, knowingly—as if she had never doubted the choice I would make.
"All right," Samantha said, folding her arms across her chest as her expression hardened into something unmistakably professional. "The eastern dungeon and one of the northern ones are red gates."
The word red carried weight.
Red gates were never ordinary. They meant unstable mana, relentless monster waves, and an almost cruel difficulty curve that punished hesitation.
"We'll start with the eastern gate," she continued. "Its time limit is shorter."
I nodded slowly, committing the information to memory.
"Will anyone else be joining us," I asked, "or will it just be the three of us?"
Ayla answered before Samantha could. "Three more will join," she said, ticking them off on her fingers. "Daniel, Chris, and Elise. That makes six in total."
Samantha inclined her head in agreement. "We depart tomorrow morning at nine. And as I said before—if we encounter enemies beyond our ability, we withdraw immediately. No heroics. No unnecessary risks."
Her gaze lingered on me for a moment, as if she wanted to be sure I understood.
"I'm not worried," I replied calmly. And I meant it.
One by one, the hunters began to leave the tavern. Chairs scraped softly against the floor, coins clinked onto tables, and the loud, boisterous energy that had filled the room earlier gradually faded. Soon, only a handful of people remained.
The tavern settled into a quieter rhythm—warm lantern light, low voices, the soft crackle of the hearth.
That was when Maris approached our table, balancing a tray with practiced ease. Beside her stood her husband, a broad-shouldered man with laugh lines etched deep into his face.
"Next round's on me," Maris announced cheerfully.
She set down five drinks—frothy mugs of beer for Samantha, Ayla, her husband, and herself. For me, she placed a glass of deep red juice, its surface catching the firelight.
I smiled faintly. "Thank you. It's really good ."
Her husband reached out and gave my shoulder a friendly pat. "Of course it is," he said proudly. "My wife invented it herself."
Maris rolled her eyes and lightly smacked his arm. "Don't exaggerate."
He laughed and pulled out a chair, sitting with us. "So, Raven," he said warmly, "how have you been? It's been a long time since I last saw you."
"I'm well, thank you," I replied. "And you, sir? You haven't changed at all. You look just as young as the last time I saw you."
He laughed heartily. "Thank you—but I can't say the same about you. Look at you. You've changed so much. And you've grown—taller, too."
He glanced between me and Samantha, amused.
"You're even taller than your former captain now."
Samantha scoffed dramatically. "What? Are you saying I'm short?"
Ayla burst out laughing. "He's right," she teased. "Two years ago you towered over Raven. Now look at her."
Laughter rippled around the table, easy and genuine.
For a brief moment, surrounded by familiar faces and warm light, it almost felt like nothing had changed at all.
I glanced toward Maris, who had been watching us with a thoughtful frown for a while now.
"What were you talking about earlier?" I asked quietly. "You all looked serious."
Ayla answered first, leaning back in her chair. "About the dungeon we're attempting to close tomorrow. Though nothing is certain—it's a red gate."
Maris stiffened.
"The eastern dungeon?" she asked at once. "The one every hunter has been talking about?"
Samantha nodded.
Maris's expression drained of color. "But everyone says it's extremely dangerous. That no one has ever come out alive. Why would you attempt it when every other guild has already given up?"
Samantha straightened, her voice calm but unyielding. "Because it's our duty as hunters. We fight monsters. We protect the people."
Maris's hands curled into fists. "Even if it costs you your lives?"
Samantha didn't answer. She only offered Maris a small, quiet smile.
That smile seemed to ignite something in her.
"If your lives don't matter to you," Maris snapped, her voice trembling, "they matter to me. I've known you since you were children. I don't want any of you getting hurt."
Her husband moved closer, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, trying to steady her. But her eyes were already burning with worry.
I remained silent, sipping my drink slowly, observing the exchange without interruption.
Then Maris turned toward me sharply.
I flinched for a second.
"And what does Raven have to do with this?" she demanded. "She isn't part of any guild. That means she won't be joining this suicidal mission, right?"
No one answered.
No one dared to.
Maris's anger flared instantly. She grabbed Samantha by the collar, pulling her forward. "What is wrong with you?" she shouted. "How could you do this? She's only eighteen!"
I stood at once and stepped between them, gently placing my hand over Maris's wrist.
"Please, calm down," I said softly, offering her a small, reassuring smile. "They didn't force me into anything. It was my decision."
Her grip loosened, though her eyes remained filled with anguish.
"I can't leave them alone," I continued. "They're far too reckless."
Maris looked at me with something close to despair. "You won't change your minds, will you?"
Samantha smiled faintly. "Don't underestimate us."
Maris exhaled sharply, defeated.
"When are you leaving?" she asked.
"Ten in the morning," Ayla replied.
Maris pointed a warning finger at Samantha. "I want all three of you back here immediately after you leave that dungeon—alive."
Samantha raised her mug in mock salute. "Yes, ma'am."
Laughter followed, strained but sincere.
And just like that, the night slipped past me.
Quietly.
Without warning