"Ughnn-"
A man in his late teens groaned as he rolled onto his side. The morning sun streamed down mercilessly through the window, a golden blade cutting across his face and prying his eyelids apart. He scowls as he buries himself into the mattress, pulling his blanket up like a shield. He sinks into the bed, drifting back to a pleasant dream.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Not feeling too thrilled about being interrupted during his hour of joy, he tries his best to ignore the knocks. I'm definitely still dreaming, he told himself, clinging to the excuse for a few more seconds of sleep.
The knocking grew louder.
"Wake up Syb! You can't sleep in again—you know I can't keep coming back for you like this"
A familiar voice calls out to him from the other side. Firm. Annoyingly persistent.
Syb lazily responds, curling tighter into a ball, cocooning himself.
"Are you seriously planning to come in late again?" the voice continued.
"I know you hate waking up in the morning—especially with all the requests piling in—but this is really gonna bite you in the ass later especially with all the strikes management has put on you" The voice was right.
If he continued his shenanigans it wouldn't end up well but then again logic was still a voice behind the door.
Does this guy never give up? Syb thought irritably.
How is this worth his time? Absolute idiot.
I'm going back to sleep.
Silence settled.
It seems like the voice had finally let up,
The bed now emitting a nice, clean aroma from the warm sunlight entices him with a soft hug. He accepts the invitation without hesitation and feels himself becoming drowsy.
Then—
Footsteps.
Distant at first, becomes rapid and heavy.
They grew louder and faster.
Running?
Before Syd could even sit up—
BANG!!
His door breaks open with a loud slam.
"GET OUT!" Syb shouted hiding beneath the blanket, his voice coming out small and pathetic.
The same voice stood in the doorway, now attached to a very solid, very real figure. Blonde hair caught the sunlight in sharp streaks. Green eyes glinted with irritation. He was moderately tall, broad-shouldered, and unfortunately for Syb—strong.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Syb snapped, throwing the blanket aside. "This is the second time you've done this! I'm genuinely going to report you to the Higher Council."
The broken locks clattered pitifully across the wooden floor. He had installed three this time. Three. But that apparently wasn't enough.
You just simply cannot argue with sheer strength. Add persistence to that and it's unbearable.
"Just get out. I'm not going today!"
Unfortunately for him the other man was also just as stubborn.
"The higher council,?" Layos scoffed. "As if they'd listen to your excuses. In fact—maybe I should do that. I'd actually have a case"
Direct hit.
Syb stared at him for a long moment before collapsing back into the mattress in defeat. After a beat, he dragged himself upright.
"You need to get that stick out of your ass," he muttered, "or go bother someone else."
"I wish I could," Layos replied smoothly. "But the stick stays. Winter's right around the corner and the guild needs all the hands we can get. You just happen to have an awful lot of hands so don't blame me, blame yourself…"
Syb was good at his job. Very good.
Which was precisely why his laziness was never overlooked.
Even though he would much rather laze around and do absolutely nothing, his contract required him to take on at least one quest per day. Payment, lodging rights, and legal protections all depended on maintaining that minimum as an outsider.
Skipping work meant penalties.
Termination meant no guild protection.
And in a world still recovering from the scars of war, being unprotected was a dangerous way to live.
Late as he was he had no choice but to give in once more.
"Alright, alright, I'm awake. Get out. Meet me outside. I'll be ready in a few minutes"
Layos narrowed his eyes trying to ascertain his sincerity.
"And Layos…"
He paused, glancing back.
"Fuck you."
To be fair, those heavy-duty locks now lying on the floor cost a hefty price.
Begrudgingly, Syb swung his feet onto the cold wooden floor. He rubbed his eyes and stretched with a long yawn while scratching his back. The window greeted him with blinding sunlight, but when he inhaled, the air carried a crisp chill that bit at his lungs.
Winter was coming.
His gaze drifts toward the nightstand.
There, resting neatly despite everything else in the room, was a golden-brown pocket watch.
Sulvian make. Pre-war design.
You didn't see many like it anymore.
He picked it up gently, brushing his thumb over the engraved crest on its casing—an emblem long retired from official banners. The kind of thing collectors would kill to own.
The polished glass reflected his messy hair and unimpressed expression. The metal hands ticked steadily, indifferent to his reluctance.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Time had advanced without his permission.
"You could at least pretend I woke up early," he said in his reflection.
The watch did not negotiate.
From outside, Layos shouted, "If you're talking to yourself in there, I'm breaking another hinge!"
"I swear to the gods, I'll start charging you rent!" Syb shot back.
"Well you'd have to show up to work to afford it," he snarked, a faint chuckle following.
He hated how he was correct.
He exhaled slowly before turning back to the item in hand.
A crack ran faintly along the edge of the casing. He didn't remember when that happened.
He didn't remember a lot of things.
He stared into his own reflection.
For reasons he couldn't quite explain, the watch comforted him. And yet, seeing himself in it also reminded his body of something heavier, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it no matter how hard he tried.
He shut it with a soft click.
Next came the eyepatch.
Blind in his left eye, he never went without it. The black cloth was lined in deep crimson, a red dragon intricately embroidered across its surface.
It was bold, dramatic and completely unnecessary.
He loved it.
He'd found the piece of vanity in a dusty pawn shop for dirt cheap, and for some reason that made it feel even more valuable.
Standing, he quickly changed into proper attire. In the corner of the room, a blade rested upright against the wall. He lifted it with practiced ease and secured it across his back.
"Ugh, Heavy…"
The metal dragged at his shoulders. Not unbearable—but noticeable.
Fully equipped, he glanced once more at his bed.
Blowing it a small, exaggerated kiss, he turned and stepped through the ruined doorway.
_______________________________________________________________________
Syb lives in an isolated cabin deep within the woods near the town of Rashwald—one of the more prominent towns in the kingdom. Trees as far as the eye can see with a narrow dirt path being the only thread connecting him to civilization.
Behind the cabin lay a quiet lake, its surface smooth as glass. It provided fresh water, and several times a week he made the trek into town for food and supplies.
Layos despised his living arrangements.
The long walk, the cold, the isolation—all for someone he often referred to as a "first-class bum."
Stepping outside his eyes adjusted to the brightness.
The forest was covered in a light veil of snow. Frost clung to the leaves, turning them pale. The bark of the trees darkened with moisture and let off a unique earthy scent.
With winter approaching, the forest carried a hushed, almost enchanting quiet.
Only the wind moved, whispering through branches.
He liked it that way.
Layos waited with his back against the cabin wall, arms crossed. A smug smile curved across his face.
Seeing this, Syb clicks his tongue in annoyance.
"C'mon," he muttered. "Let's get this over with."
The town of Rashwald sat at a corner of Heartia—Often referred to as the Kingdom of Festivities, Heartia was the easiest place to live.
Not the richest and not the most powerful but the most comfortable.
Spread across rolling plains, temperate forests, and calm lakes, Heartia sits at the southernmost edge of the continent where the winter is less of a problem and more of a decoration for the fertile lands. Trade roads between towns, well maintained. Festivals filled the calendar and travelers often described the place as a safe haven.
Three hundred years earlier, when Sohvran fell and the continent fractured, they were among the first to shift their focus from regaining power to rebuilding stability while other kingdoms hoarded knowledge and fortified their borders.
Heartia had achieved self-sustainability quicker than any other land which set off the spark for business. Growing a flame of ambition the Kingdom had regained its name as Heartia—the Heart of trade.
Music and food are central to Heartian life, not simply for entertainment but as an effort to keep communities connected.
Even small towns like Rashwald maintain this rhythm.
At the center of Heartia's functionality lies 'The Grand Guild'. Rather than maintaining a massive standing military or a centralized labor force, Heartia had contracted 'Sinners'—anyone with a registered Sin benefitting the completion of certain tasks—spanning outside the norm—were hired under the guild's official contracts. In exchange for legal protection, consistent pay and access to resources, contractors are required to take on a minimum number of quests.
Miss too many and penalties begin to stack.
Miss far too many and one risks losing their protection entirely.
A system designed less around punishment and more around balance. Contributors stay contributed and the kingdom runs smoothly.
For most citizens it worked well, but for Syb it was an ongoing inconvenience.
There are no sky-wide barriers like Wyvernia's, no hyper-controlled academic hierarchy like Oregon's, and no suffocating surveillance like the northern dominions. Travel within its borders is simple. Trade is open. Outsiders are generally welcomed so long as they respect local customs and contribute in some way.
Comfort, however, came with expectations.
And expectations required effort.
Which was precisely what Syb tried to avoid.
_______________________________________________________________________
Following the narrow dirt road, they finally emerged from the forest and passed beneath a rustic wooden archway marking the entrance to Rashvald.
The shift in atmosphere was immediate.
Sound returned first—voices layered over one another, merchants calling out prices, the clatter of tools and crates, the constant murmur of negotiation. Stalls lined the main road from end to end, canvas tents pulled tight against the creeping cold. Townsfolk moved quickly between them, arms filled with bundled goods and preserved rations. With winter approaching, many travelers were stocking up before leaving for warmer regions.
Rashvald always thrived in these final weeks of autumn. Coins flowed quickly. Supplies vanished even faster.
Syb walked with little interest, hands tucked lazily into his coat while Layos scanned the street with alert precision.
"Late," Layos muttered.
"I noticed," Syb replied, though he reluctantly quickened his pace.
They cut through the busy street toward the town's center, where a marble fountain rose from a circular plaza. It stood in stark contrast to the town's otherwise modest construction. Pale stone caught the sunlight and reflected it outward, giving the fountain a faint golden hue that softened its otherwise cold surface.
Perched atop it was a sculpted figure—a Sefier.
Even in stone, the creature felt imposing. Vast wings curved outward in a poised half-spread, each feather carved with painstaking detail. Its body held a coiled strength that suggested sudden, devastating motion, while its head angled downward as though observing the town below with quiet indifference.
Winged. Ancient. Unconfirmed.
Sefiers existed mostly in stories passed between hunters and sailors. Said to surpass dragons in strength and outpace serpents in speed. Whether they were a shared ancestor, a forgotten evolution, or something entirely separate remained a topic of debate among scholars.
No verified sighting had ever been recorded.
And yet, their likeness appeared in carvings across several kingdoms.
Syb tilted his head slightly as they passed beneath the statue's shadow, his visible eye narrowing with mild interest.
"Bit excessive for a town this size," he muttered.
"It was built after the war," Layos replied without slowing. "Symbol of protection."
"Ah," Syb said flatly.
Decorative reassurance.
Behind the fountain stood a large brownstone building overlooking the plaza. Wide stone steps led up to its entrance, worn smooth from years of use. The guild hall. Taller and sturdier than anything around it, as if the entire town quietly revolved around its presence.
They were late—and judging by the open doors and noise inside, the guild was already in full operation.
Layos picked up speed first. Syb followed with a sigh.
Together, they climbed the steps and pushed through the heavy doors.
Syb exhaled slowly as the guild's noise closed in around him.
So much for a peaceful morning.