The first punch never reached Kael's face.
Not because he dodged—not fully—but because Lyra slammed her shoulder into the attacker's ribs a heartbeat before impact. The blow lacked weight; her body simply didn't have it yet. Still, it knocked the man off-balance, disrupting his timing.
That was enough.
Kael stepped in.
Pain screamed through his injured arm as he moved, but he ignored it. Distance collapsed. His left hand caught the attacker's wrist, twisted sharply, and his right elbow—weak, aching—drove into the man's jaw.
Bone met bone.
The man crumpled with a wet grunt.
The alley erupted.
The Ash Dogs surged forward, boots splashing through filth, curses filling the air. Kael felt the familiar narrowing of the world—the way chaos simplified when violence began.
No mana flares.
No glowing spells.
Just bodies.
One came at Kael from the side, knife flashing. Kael pivoted late—too late. The blade grazed his forearm, heat blooming into pain.
Lyra screamed his name.
Kael grit his teeth and pressed forward instead of retreating. He caught the knife hand with both palms, slammed it against the wall, and drove a knee into the man's thigh. Muscle tore. The man howled and dropped.
Lyra moved like a shadow beside him—not fast, not strong, but precise. She used angles, momentum, joints. A strike to the collarbone. A stomp to the instep. A shove that sent a man stumbling into his own ally.
But they were outnumbered.
And exhaustion crept in quickly.
Kael's breathing grew heavy. His injured arm burned. His vision blurred at the edges.
The gang leader hadn't moved yet.
He watched.
Waiting.
Kael saw it—and knew.
The moment the leader stepped in, someone would die.
Then a new voice cut through the alley.
"That's enough."
It was calm. Flat. Unimpressed.
The leader turned, irritation flashing across his face. "This isn't your business, old—"
He stopped.
At the mouth of the alley stood three figures.
Not slum rats.
Not guards.
Adventurers.
Kael recognized them instantly—not from the novel, but from instinct.
The way they stood. The way the world seemed to subtly make room for them.
One wore light armor etched with sigils. Mana pulsed faintly around her skin—controlled, refined. A close-combat mage.
Another leaned casually on a spear, eyes sharp, posture relaxed but ready.
The third—a man with graying hair and a scar running from temple to jaw—stood with hands folded behind his back.
The leader of the Ash Dogs swallowed.
"This is slum business," he said carefully.
The scarred man tilted his head. "No. This is disorder."
The pressure shifted.
Kael felt it this time—not mana exactly, but something adjacent. Authority backed by power.
"Leave," the man said. "Or be removed."
The gang hesitated.
Then they ran.
Silence returned to the alley, broken only by ragged breathing.
Lyra sagged slightly, hands trembling. Kael caught her elbow.
"You okay?" he asked.
She nodded, swallowing hard. "You're bleeding."
"I'll live."
The scarred man approached them slowly, eyes assessing. "You fought well," he said. "For unawakened."
Lyra stiffened. "You could tell?"
The man smiled faintly. "Anyone worth their salt can."
The woman in armor frowned. "They're children."
"And still standing," the man replied.
He looked at Kael. "What's your name?"
"Kael."
"Lyra," she added.
"I'm Darius," the man said. "Guildmaster of the Iron Vale."
Kael's heart skipped.
A guild.
Not a great one—not legendary—but known. Neutral. Reliable.
A place that took in strays.
"Why help us?" Lyra asked cautiously.
Darius glanced down the alley, then back at them. "Because you're alive when you shouldn't be. Because you didn't rely on magic you don't have. And because if you stay here, you'll be dead within a month."
Kael didn't argue.
"Come with us," Darius said. "We can offer work. Shelter. Training."
Lyra hesitated. "We haven't awakened."
"Then you will," Darius said simply. "Or you won't. Either way, you'll earn your keep."
Kael looked at Lyra.
She looked back.
They both thought of the shrine. The hunger. The knives.
"We'll come," Kael said.
The Iron Vale guildhall was nothing like the academies described in the novel.
It wasn't grand.
It was solid.
Stone walls. Reinforced beams. Warm light. The smell of steel, oil, and food.
Real food.
Kael's legs nearly gave out when they stepped inside.
People looked up—adventurers of all kinds. Mages. Fighters. Hybrids. Some glanced at them with curiosity. Others with disinterest.
Darius led them to a long table.
"Sit," he said.
A bowl of stew was placed before them.
Kael stared at it for half a second—then ate like a starving animal. Lyra followed, slower, more controlled, but just as desperate.
Darius waited.
When they finished, he spoke.
"You'll start as porters and trainees," he said. "No contracts. No field work. Not yet."
Lyra nodded. "Understood."
"You'll be watched," Darius continued. "Evaluated. If you cause trouble, you're out."
Kael met his gaze. "Fair."
Darius studied him for a moment longer. Then he smiled.
"Good."
A faint chime echoed in Kael's mind.
A translucent window appeared.
AFFILIATION ESTABLISHED
GUILD: IRON VALE
STATUS: PROBATIONARY MEMBER
Lyra saw it too.
She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
That night, Kael lay on a real bed for the first time since arriving in this world.
His body ached.
His mind raced.
But for the first time—
They had a place to stand.
And somewhere deep within him, in that silent space where pressure gathered and waited—
Something approved.
The darkness did not move.
Yet.
But it was no longer alone.