The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
Rasilca stood behind the small wooden table, her hands folded in front of her, her posture perfectly straight. She looked frightened, her eyes wide, her breathing shallow, but something about it felt… rehearsed. Like a mask worn just a second too late.
Aren stood a few steps away, his sword half-drawn, the steel catching the lamplight.
"Stop pretending," he said coldly. "You've been calm since the moment I walked in."
Rasilca swallowed, her lips trembling.
"I...I don't understand what you mean," she said softly. "Please, lower your weapon. I'm just a client. I only asked for an escort."
Aren took one step forward.
"Then tell me," he said. "What's inside the crates?"
Her eyes flickered.
Just for an instant.
"They contain…" she hesitated, then exhaled, as if resigning herself. "They contain the Compatible."
Aren frowned.
"The Compatible?"
Rasilca nodded slowly.
"Yes."
His grip tightened.
"What does that mean?"
Silence.
Rasilca looked down, her fingers tightening together.
"I'm sorry," she said. "That's all I can say."
Aren felt something snap.
"That's not an answer."
He drew his sword fully.
"Then die."
Steel cut through the air.
At that exact moment—
"AREN, STOP!"
The door burst open.
Stella rushed in, her voice sharp, her face pale but determined. Aren halted mid-swing, his blade stopping a breath away from Rasilca's throat.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Stella stared at the sword, then at Aren.
"What are you doing?" she demanded.
Aren didn't look away from Rasilca.
"She knows what's in the crates."
Stella stepped between them without hesitation.
"And killing her won't change that."
Rasilca hadn't moved.
Not even when the blade had been inches from her neck.
Stella noticed.
She swallowed, then turned to Rasilca and bowed slightly.
"I'm sorry for this disturbance," she said quickly. "We'll be leaving now."
She reached for the pouch on the table, took the ten gold coins without ceremony, and grabbed Aren's sleeve.
"We're done here," she whispered sharply. "Let's go."
Aren hesitated—then allowed himself to be pulled away.
Outside, the cool night air hit them both.
Aren yanked his arm free.
"Why did you stop me?"
Stella exhaled slowly.
"First," she said, "because you were about to do something stupid."
"And second?"
She looked at him.
"Because Rasilca isn't normal."
Aren narrowed his eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"When you swung," Stella said quietly, "she didn't move. Not even a little. She looked at your blade like she already knew where it would land."
Aren's jaw tightened.
"…That's not normal."
"No," Stella agreed. "And that's exactly why she's not our problem anymore."
She rubbed her temple.
"My mana recovers fast," she added. "That's why I woke up."
Aren looked back at the house.
"…We should leave."
"Yes," Stella said firmly. "You need rest. And we need distance."
Hassan woke the next morning.
Aren and Stella were with Viron when it happened.
They entered the room quietly and found the veteran sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on the floor.
"Hassan?" Stella said.
He looked up.
And smiled.
Just like that, the heaviness lifted—almost.
"You two look terrible," he said warmly.
Stella scoffed.
"And you look like someone who shouldn't be sitting up."
"I've been worse," Hassan replied.
Aren studied him carefully.
Something was off.
"How do you feel?" Aren asked.
"Fine," Hassan said. "We can leave today."
Stella shook her head immediately.
"No. You need more rest."
"We don't have time to waste," Aren said calmly. "We should move."
Hassan nodded.
"I agree."
Viron protested, of course. He insisted Hassan stay longer, waved away the gold when Stella tried to pay, but she pressed the coins into his hands anyway.
"For the trouble," she said firmly.
They left that afternoon.
Helior welcomed them back with stone and firelight.
The city felt heavier than before.
Aren escorted Stella first, walking her back to the small Tallcrag residence inside the capital. She moved slowly, still drained, but insisted she was fine.
"Get some rest," Aren said at the door.
She smiled faintly.
"You too."
Aren watched her go inside, then turned.
"I'll take Hassan home."
They walked in silence.
When they reached Hassan's house—a modest place, well-kept but simple—the veteran stopped.
"Come in," he said.
Inside, the atmosphere changed.
Hassan closed the door.
Then he spoke.
"You noticed, didn't you?"
Aren didn't answer right away.
"…So it's true."
Hassan nodded once.
"Yes."
Aren's fists clenched.
"Stella saw it," he said. "Your stars. They're broken."
Hassan exhaled.
"I won't be able to use mana again. Which means no aura."
Silence.
"Then you'll recover," Aren said sharply. "You'll train again."
Hassan shook his head.
"I'm retiring."
Aren turned on him.
"You can't."
"I can."
"You reached that level—six stars! You can't just throw that away!"
Hassan met his gaze calmly.
"Without mana, I'm nothing."
Aren froze.
"…That's not true."
Hassan blinked.
"I fight without mana every day," Aren said, his voice rising. "And I know exactly what I'm worth."
Hassan's expression softened.
"I didn't mean to offend you."
"But I stand by what I said," he continued. "Everything has a limit. You've been pushing your body the way I pushed mine."
Aren swallowed.
"If you keep going like this," Hassan said quietly, "you won't reach the Academy. You'll break before you get there."
The words landed heavier than any blow.
"I have children," Hassan added. "And I don't want to leave them without a father."
He placed a hand on Aren's shoulder.
"This is advice from an old man who learned too late."
Aren didn't answer.
He left shortly after.
The days that followed were quiet.
Too quiet.
Then the letter came.
Stella was to return to the main Tallcrag estate.
They stood together at the gate.
"So," Aren said. "Guess this is it."
"For now," Stella replied.
She studied him, then smiled gently.
"You'll figure it out."
"Figure what out?"
"Your way forward."
Aren smirked.
"You're awfully confident."
"Of course," she said. "I know you."
He looked at her.
"The next time we meet," he said, "it'll be at the Academy."
Stella grinned.
"I'll be waiting."
She turned and left.
Aren stood there alone.
And for the first time since leaving his village, the weight didn't come from his sword—
But from everything, he still didn't know how to carry.