Morning light washed over Skeldar, the capital of the Shield Kingdom of Aegis, glinting off stone towers and polished shields.
Stone streets warmed as the light climbed higher. Market stalls opened. Bells rang once, then went still. Life moved in practiced rhythms.
A young man walked through it all with steady purpose.
Ronan wore polished armor, its surface catching the light without blinding glare. It was well-maintained rather than ornate, marked by use instead of decoration. A long sword rested at his side—clean, balanced, and clearly trusted. Its blade reflected the world in a thin, cold line.
He looked every bit the hero.
Not because of radiance or presence, but because people made room for him as he passed.
Shopkeepers nodded. Guards acknowledged him without tension. Children watched him go with quiet interest rather than fear. Ronan returned each gesture simply, a brief smile here, a small wave there. He did not linger. He did not bask.
His reputation was not built on legend, but consistency.
Today, however, his thoughts were elsewhere.
Okay… today's the day.
He exhaled slowly as he walked, grounding himself in the rhythm of his steps.
I'll tell her. Properly. No backing out.
The closer he came to the guildhall, the faster his heart beat—an unwelcome reminder that facing monsters was easier than facing a single person.
The guild doors stood open, voices spilling out in low conversation. Inside, the familiar scent of wood, ink, and old metal greeted him.
And there she was.
Juniper sat behind the reception desk, quietly sorting documents into neat stacks. Her movements were careful, deliberate. When she worked, the noise of the guild seemed to bend around her rather than pass through.
She looked up as Ronan approached.
Her emerald eyes widened slightly before softening. A faint smile followed.
"Good morning, Ronan-sama."
Her voice was gentle, almost hesitant, as if speaking too loudly might disrupt something fragile.
"Good morning, Miss Juniper."
He cleared his throat, heat rising to his face despite himself.
"Sorry—ah. I mean… it's good to see you."
She smiled a little more at that.
"It's good to see you back. How did your quest go?"
Ronan shifted slightly, his gaze meeting hers,
"It went well," he said. "It was an A-rank request. A Goblin Lord had taken over a village to the east—stealing supplies, terrorizing the people. They were surprisingly well-organized, for goblins."
Juniper leaned forward slightly, hands resting on the desk.
"That sounds dangerous…"
He offered a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
"It was, but we dealt with it. The villagers are safe now. Most of what was taken was recovered."
He paused, then added, more quietly,
"They won't be returning."
Her expression held relief first—then admiration she tried, unsuccessfully, to hide.
"That's… incredible. An A-rank threat, handled so calmly."
Ronan gave a short, embarrassed laugh.
"I just did what I could."
Silence settled between them—not awkward, but heavy. Expectant.
He took a breath.
"Miss Juniper, I was wondering if—"
He glanced down, then up again — into her emerald eyes.
The guildhall went quiet.
Not suddenly, not dramatically—but enough that Ronan noticed. Conversations dipped. A mug paused halfway to a mouth, even the old guildmaster gruff behind the bar stilled. eyes subtly turned toward the pair, as if watching the climax of a long-awaited romance.
Juniper looked up at him fully now.
"If you're not busy later," Ronan continued, voice steady despite the hammering in his chest, "would you like to—"
"YO, RON!"
The shout tore through the guildhall like a thrown axe.
"What's takin' so long?! We're starving out here!"
The moment shattered like glass underfoot.
A collective groan rippled through the room.
"BRO. Seriously?" one rogue muttered into his ale.
"You absolute buffoon," another adventurer hissed.
"Read the room, you golden-haired blunderstick!" someone shouted from the back.
Even the guildmaster grumbled under his breath, "Back in my day, you let love bloom in peace…"
Ronan flinched and turned, a rare edge of irritation crossing his usually gentle expression.
The culprit stood a few paces away — a young man with unruly blond hair and a grin that never seemed to know when to stop. A spear rested across his back, polished and well cared for.
Jareth.
His grin faltered slightly as he took in the scene. "Oh. Uh… did I interrupt something important?"
"...Jareth," Ronan muttered, shoulders stiffening.
Juniper let out a small laugh — not mocking, just soft, an attempt to ease the tension. "I suppose your team was looking for you."
Ronan turned back to her, apology written plainly across his face. "...Yeah. I guess I should—"
She nodded before he could finish, her smile gentler now. "It's alright. We can talk more… later, maybe?"
He blinked, then smiled — truly smiled.
As he turned to leave, her voice followed him, quiet but steady.
"And Ronan-sama?"
He paused.
"…I'm really glad you came back safe."
Their eyes met for a brief moment. Then Ronan nodded and walked away, heart pounding, resolve settling in his chest.
Next time, he promised himself. I won't hesitate.
Jareth clapped him on the back a little too hard, already talking as if nothing monumental had just been interrupted. Ronan barely heard him. The disappointment lingered, but it no longer weighed him down.
Behind the desk, Juniper stared after him.
"Well," a voice said lightly beside her, "that was painful to witness."
Marie leaned against the counter, arms crossed, wearing a knowing smirk.
"Looks like someone's got a knight in shining armor who almost asked her out."
Juniper puffed her cheeks slightly. "Don't start."
Marie chuckled. "I won't. Just… don't let him be the only brave one next time."
Juniper said nothing — but her fingers tightened around her clipboard. When she looked toward the doors again, the shyness had faded into quiet resolve.
Next time... I'll be the one to ask.
---
Outside the guildhall, Ronan and Jareth found two familiar figures waiting near the steps.
Vanya stood calmly in the morning light, white robes marked with the symbol of her faith. Her presence carried an easy warmth, the kind that steadied frayed nerves without effort.
Vanya smiled, her voice gentle and a little hesitant.
"Ronan-sama… Jareth-kun. You took a while."
Beside her stood Ysarael—or just Ys, as Jareth liked to call her, though only when he was sure she wouldn't hear.
Where Vanya was composed, Ysarael was all sharp edges — dark red hair pulled loose, eyes alert and restless. A massive sword rested across her back, its worn hilt wrapped in faded cloth — a relic more of a symbolic weapon, perhaps a family heirloom, rather than something she actively used in combat.
Jareth grinned, throwing an arm around Ronan's shoulder.
"Hey, Vanya! And Ys—"
Ysarael's glare stopped him cold.
"Uh—Ysarael! Totally meant Ysarael. Heh…" ready for our next big adventure?"
Ysarael scoffed, arms crossed, one brow arched.
"If it means you'll finally shut up, then yes."
Jareth's grin faltered slightly.
"…Wow. Straight for the throat."
"Don't flatter yourself," Ysarael said. "You're just obnoxious."
"Alright, alright, you two," Ronan interjected, raising a hand. "Let's not start another brawl on the guild steps. Vanya, what's the mission?"
Vanya reached into her robes and unfolded a sealed parchment. At the top, a serpentine dragon was etched in black ink. Below it, bold numbers stood out.
48,000 Gold Gennys.
Jareth's eyes widened. "Forthy Eight thousand?! Whoa! That's the kind of number you don't see unless it's tied to a royal bounty!"
Ysarael smirked, arms crossed.
"Careful, Jareth. You might drool all over yourself before we even get to the caves."
Jareth huffed. "I'm just saying, that's a serious reward!"
Vanya nodded.
"It's an S Apex-rank request. A Poison Dragon."
Ronan frowned. "That's a serious threat."
Jareth, seemingly unfazed, cracked his knuckles. "an apex dragon just means more excitement, right? I've been itching for a real fight!"
Ysarael snorted. "Of course you have. You'd pick a fight with a brick wall if it looked at you funny."
"Hey! If the wall started it—"
"Just shut up and listen," she cut him off, turning her attention to Vanya.
"There's more," she continued. "Another S-rank adventurer accepted the same quest earlier."
Ysarael's eyes narrowed. "And?"
"He completed it," Vanya said. "Alone."
Silence fell.
"Alone?" Jareth repeated, quieter now.
"No one knows," Vanya continued, "He appeared out of nowhere, completed the quest, and vanished. They're calling him the Phantom Slayer."
Jareth's awe turned quickly into renewed confidence.
"Well, if we beat the next one, we'll be the strongest hero party in the kingdom — stronger than this Phantom guy!"
"In your dreams," Ysarael muttered. "You'd be lucky not to poison yourself in the first five minutes."
"Hey! I'll have you know—"
"Alright, you two, that's enough," Ronan meddled before they began, "Vanya, do we know where this Poison Dragon is now?"
Vanya shook her head, "The guild traced it to the Whispering Caves, three days south of here. There's been an increase in poisonous gas and… strange roars."
Ronan's expression sharpened. "Then we leave at dawn. Everyone, prepare whatever you need."
For a moment, no one spoke.
"But before that," Jareth chimed in, rubbing his stomach, "can we eat. I'm starving."
Ysarael scoffed. Vanya and Ronan let out a low chuckle. For a moment — but the corner of his mouth lifted.
For the moment, that was enough.
———
Almost three months had slipped by since the Jenora Church incident.
In that time, I'd completely taken over my parents' room—not that they could really object to their adoring son. I lay on my stomach in my usual spot, completely absorbed in a book. My arms propped me up as I squinted at the pages, brows furrowed in concentration, surrounded by open textbooks and the few ancient tomes I'd smuggled back from Jenora. It looked like a literary battlefield. To me, it was perfect.
Today's discovery stopped me cold.
Our home—smack in the middle of what I'd always assumed was just a dense, boring forest—turned out to be inside the Forbidden Forest. At least, that's what the ancient book claimed.
Not that it explained much. The text was frustratingly vague, full of lines like none who enter return unchanged and a veil of secrets older than the kingdom itself. No details. Just warnings. Half of it read like someone's overly dramatic journal. Basically: Don't go in there. Bad things happen.
I sighed and closed the book, letting it thud softly onto the pile. Rolling onto my back, I laced my hands behind my head and stared at the wooden ceiling.
"I learned a lot over the past three months."
Jenora, for one—it wasn't just a sleepy town. It sat quietly along the southern edge of the Shield Kingdom of Aegis.
Then there was my skill: Soul Binding. A unique ability that let me draw out the souls of possessed beings—spirits, yokai-like entities, corrupted hosts. I could remove them and seal them into vessels or artifacts. It only worked on the possessed, thankfully. No accidental soul-theft incidents. One spirit at a time, though. No mass-exorcism nonsense… yet.
But even that wasn't the most unbelievable part.
This world… it's drenched in magic. Not parlor tricks or sleight of hand — real magic.
Forces that shaped the land itself. Fire, water, wind, earth—the fundamentals.
Then there were the rarer elements: thunder, light, and darkness — raw, dangerous, mysterious.
And beyond those? The books hinted at stranger forces. Creation magic. Arcane forces that bent logic itself.
It was overwhelming.
And incredible.
I needed more.
Rolling back onto my stomach, I reached for another tome from the growing pile beside me. Maybe this one would finally have something concrete.
I couldn't stop reading.
The more I learned, the more questions formed.
This wasn't just a world with magic
— it was a world of limitless possibilities.
I was so deep into the ancient text—mind racing with the implications—that I almost didn't notice the shift in the room's atmosphere.
Almost.
Two large eyes peeked around the doorway, glittering with mischief.
Styx.
She crouched just out of sight like a wild animal stalking prey. Her posture screamed I'm about to do something loud and stupid. I didn't look up. Just smirked faintly and kept reading.
I'd sensed her the second she arrived.
A year of living with her had sharpened my instincts. I knew her exact brand of chaos.
Whatever she was planning, it was going to be annoying—and I wasn't giving her the satisfaction.
She leapt with a dramatic shriek, like a villain in a children's play.
I casually sidestepped her. Didn't even lift my eyes off the page.
"Whoomph!"
She hit the floor, wobbling a bit — but grinning like she'd nailed the landing.
And wait! is she... drooling?
She lunged again, this time aiming straight for my face.
I blocked her with one hand, extended a leg to keep her back, and continued reading.
Unmoved. Unimpressed.
She hovered inches from my face, breath warm, eyes blazing with effort
"Come onnn," she whined, "let your onee-san kiss you!"
I turned a page.
She puffed out her cheeks. "Mou! Just a little attention!"
She wasn't giving up so easily.
I finally glanced at her over the edge of my book. "Not happening, neesan. I need to finish these before nightfall."
Then I went right back to reading.
Of course, that didn't stop her. She poked my cheek, tugged on my sleeve, and even tried to tickle my side. What started as a sneak attack had evolved into a full-on attention-seeking campaign.
"C'mon, Piers! Let's go outside! I wanna play!" she pleaded, her tone a mix of genuine excitement and stubborn insistence.
I still didn't budge,
And then at last… she pulled out the big guns.
Titling her head, widened her eyes—those puppy-dog eyes, perfected over years of sibling rivalry.
I felt it immediately. A psychic assault. I prided myself on mastering that expression, but hers?
Truly Lethal.
A long sigh escaped me. "Fine," marking my page with a finger. "Just for a bit."
"Yatta~!" She beamed, instantly grabbing my hand and dragging me toward the door,
"But we have to ask Mom first."
She didn't slow down. "Mmhmm! Already on it!"
We found Mom tending her plants with military focus. She looked up, her expression softening.
"Mama!" Styx chirped, yanking my arm for emphasis. "Can we go play in the back garden?"
"Please, Mama? Just for a bit! I promise we won't cause any trouble,"
Mom smiled, wiping her hands on her apron. "Very well. But be careful, and don't stay out too late."
"We won't!" Styx shouted, already halfway out the door and tugging me along.
I let myself be dragged along, a reluctant grin creeping in—amused, annoyed… and just a little fond.
* * *